


Love is a Renewable Resource

by Jaela



Series: Types of Love [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BATTLE OF MINDS, Blowjobs, Family Drama, M/M, Massage, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex, Suga is dating basically the entire cast of this series and in my heart I know this to be true, WOW THOSE SURE ARE SOME TAGS, accidentally platonic ship, gonna add relationship tags as i go, handjobs, high school romcom cliches, kind of unintentional love triangle but not really, lots of makeouts idk, pop idols, romantic (?) dinner, shared milkshakes, so if you don't see a ship here DON'T WORRY IT'S PROBABLY COMING, sweets addict Suga, the classic coffee date, these kids will be fine i promise, three-way spooning, very vague reference to shower sex, window shopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaela/pseuds/Jaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sugawara Koushi is poly as hell and has a lot of love to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simultaneous

**Author's Note:**

> Hooooo boy, here we go. This is something that's been on my mind for a while now — just the general concept of a fic in which Suga dates everyone. Poly!Suga gives me life; he is truly cute together with everyone.
> 
> After a lot of agonizing over the order of chapters, I decided to be self-indulgent and start with my main Haikyuu ship, the Golden OT3 of my heart. I'm planning to meander slowly through the entire high school volleyball-playing population of Japan, and finish up with some good old-fashioned DaiSuga. I hope you'll bear with me and my truly bewildering taste in rarepairs along the way!

“Three straws, please!” Nishinoya grins and bounces up in his chair.

There is a flicker in the waitress’s expression—just the slightest twitch of an eyebrow—but Suga catches it before she bows and strides off to the kitchen, so he knows Asahi definitely caught it as well. Which means that undoubtedly Asahi is currently rushing off down Anxiety Road, coming up with every terrible possibility of what catastrophic consequences could be in store. Suga could swear he can see the sweat start to break out on Asahi’s brow.

“It’s fine, relax!” Nishinoya pats Asahi’s shoulder, which possibly makes him sweat even more. For good measure, Suga smacks Asahi _hard_ on the back, which makes him whip his head around so fast it probably hurts his neck. Suga feels a tiny bit sorry, maybe. He tries out an apologetic smile, but Asahi looks so absolutely baffled that it turns into an indelicate snort of laughter before he can help himself.

“What’s that face about?!” Suga’s voice comes out all breathy with the effort of not laughing so hard it’ll draw attention to them. Nishinoya leans halfway across the table and cranes his neck to get a look at Asahi’s face.

“Oi, really! How many times does he have to slap you before you get used to it?” Nishinoya chimes in, for his part not caring at all to keep a low profile.

“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing a person can get used to, no matter how many times…” Asahi rubs at the back of his head and glances towards the door. Taking note of escape routes, Suga realizes. And even though that’s a little worrisome and sad it makes his heart swell, all warm and fond. He exchanges a glance with Nishinoya, who rolls his eyes, but that’s just his way of saying that he’s feeling equally sentimental and mushy.

“Ahh, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya says, breezy and light, “we’ll never get used to you either.”

Suga hums in affirmation.

Asahi, to gauge by appearances, seems to be caught somewhere between the territories of _that is so sweet_ and _oh god please don’t do this._

Nishinoya, of course, is _absolutely_ going to do this. He leans in and raises one eyebrow over a crooked smile—something he picked up from Suga, not that either of them is aware of that.

“You’re pretty cute when you blush, you know that?”

“I’m not blushing,” Asahi says. And to be fair, he wasn’t before Nishinoya said that. But he definitely is _now_.

Suga can’t resist. He makes a big show of appraising Asahi’s face and nods sagely. “Rather than cute, I think I’d describe it as _sexy._ Don’t you think?”

Asahi chokes on air, and Nishinoya plunges on, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Both! Definitely both.”

“We’re in public,” Asahi pleads, looking from Nishinoya to Suga and back again, searching desperately for some semblance of mercy.

“Oh, that’s right! Want me to get up on the table and announce it to everyone?” Asahi would probably love to believe that that’s way too ludicrous to be anything but an empty threat, but there’s a dangerous glint in Nishinoya’s eye that says _try me._

“Please,” Asahi says to the table, too afraid to look either (treacherous, diabolical) boyfriend in the eye right now.

Mercifully enough, the waitress returns at that moment with an almost comically large milkshake.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Suga leans forward and fixes her with his most charming smile, doing his best to keep her eyes off of Asahi and the deep shade of red settling over his face. “No thank you; that will be all.” He’s so perfectly polite that she seems to forget that it’s at all odd to serve a single beverage to three high school boys. She smiles and turns on her heel without another word, off to assist some other table.

Asahi sighs so long that he must have been holding his breath, and Nishinoya sets to work unwrapping the straws and carefully assigning them – blue for himself, red for Suga, yellow for Asahi. The decision process is a mystery, but Nishinoya is confident and firm as anything.

Suga, dropping the refined façade without a second thought, scoops up a sizable amount of whipped cream on his finger and sticks it in his mouth.

Nishinoya’s lips turn down in a pensive frown. “That’s bad manners! It doesn’t suit your image, Suga-san.”

Suga looks at Asahi to see if he agrees, and sees him lock eyes with Nishinoya for a long moment. Suga smirks and pulls his finger out of his mouth with a faint _pop_. The tables have turned on him, then.

“Hmm? But that’s the best part, and we don’t have a spoon. If we save it for the end it’ll get all mixed in with the milkshake and it won’t taste the same.”

“Isn’t that better?” Nishinoya presses. “It’ll taste like melon. It’s boring by itself.”

“Suga has bland taste in sweets,” Asahi provides. Not unkindly, but it is a little bold of him.

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who orders the exact same thing from every restaurant every time,” Suga says, mimicking Nishinoya’s brand of airy dismissal and helping himself to another fingerful of whipped cream. He looks to Nishinoya, who is more than happy to set his crosshairs back on Asahi.

“Right, right! That’s even more boring, if you think about it. It’s too safe, Asahi-san!” He jabs his straw into the shake, and Asahi just sighs and follows suit.

Nishinoya, for his part, is never the target—though Suga does catch him staring when he switches to scooping cream with two fingers at once, and winks just pointedly enough to make him blush.

“This isn’t bad,” Asahi decides, swishing his straw around to break an air pocket in the cold mixture. “It’s too bad it’s only a seasonal flavor.”

“See? It’s good to try new things!” Nishinoya leans an arm on Asahi’s shoulder. Small as he is, his full weight is enough to make Asahi tip precariously to the side, and Suga grabs hold of his other arm to steady him.

“When you say things like ‘too safe,’ I don’t understand what you mean. How can safety be a bad thing?” Asahi is doing a lot of sighing today.

Nishinoya’s eyes narrow. “What a boring guy.”

“Stuffy,” Suga agrees.

“Ordinary.”

“Colorless.”

 _“Please,”_ Asahi says. He’s doing that a lot today, too.

With the cream gone by now, Suga dips his straw in alongside the other two. The flavor is mild and inoffensive, but not rich enough to be nearly as satisfying. He does his level best in a self-imposed race to make sure he gets his fair share anyway.

“Shouldn’t we take turns or something?” Asahi suggests, so weakly that he must already know the answer. Suga and Nishinoya both turn their heads questioningly, registering in unison that he must be referring to the way their faces are crowded so close together that it’s like they’re posing for print club photos or something.

“That’ll take too long,” Nishinoya says. “It’ll melt.”

“Besides,” Suga adds, deliberately pressing his face against Asahi’s, “what’s a little skinship between teammates?”

“You guys…” Asahi groans and glances around warily to gauge just how many people might be staring by now.

“Okay, okay,” Suga says, giving Nishinoya a different kind of wink this time. One that makes him grin.

“Truce!” Nishinoya proclaims. “But only because you’re paying for the date.”

Asahi clears his throat loudly over the tail end of Nishinoya’s sentence. “Don’t we have a rule about saying that word in public?”

“My bad.” Nishinoya, blithe as ever, returns his attention to the milkshake.

One last attack—Suga lowers his voice to a sultry whisper. “We’ll make it up to you later.”

Asahi bites down on his lip and just barely manages not to whimper.

\--

Suga is a man of his word, though, and Nishinoya is unfailingly loyal as ever. An hour later Asahi sits cross-legged in the middle of Suga’s bed, shirt folded a little unevenly beside him. Nishinoya perches behind him and works a comb through his hair, and Suga gets on his knees in front of him and gives him a quick kiss before setting deft fingers to work on massaging the tension out of his shoulders.

“Worth it?” Suga asks, and Asahi just chuckles. His shoulders shake and Nishinoya’s comb hits a knot.

“Careful,” Nishinoya says, holding Asahi’s head steady with one hand and smoothing out that little tangle with a gentler touch than he uses for just about anything. He looks so cute and determined with his tongue just barely poking out of the corner of his mouth that Suga can’t help but hook his arms under Asahi’s and wrap them both up in a hug.

“Whoa,” Nishinoya shouts, and quick reflexes kick in to pull the comb safely out of Asahi’s hair and toss it aside before he loses his balance and all three of them topple over sideways.

Nishinoya wriggles up on the bed and peeks over Asahi’s shoulder. “Suga-san, what was that?”

Suga smiles, lopsided and absolutely smitten. He presses matching kisses to Nishinoya’s forehead—“I love you—“ and to Asahi’s temple—“and you.”

Nishinoya shifts again, throwing an arm over Asahi’s side and leaning over to look him in the eye.

“Suga-san’s such a sap,” he declares.

“He is, he is.” Asahi laughs easily, his guard finally down. He’s so beautiful like this—comfortably defenseless with his heart wide open. Suga doesn’t even have to look at Nishinoya to know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Suga scolds, but he can’t keep the giddy grin off his face at all. He pulls his arm out from underneath two warm bodies and folds it over his head so he won’t lose circulation if he settles in to stay like this for a while.

Which everyone seems perfectly content to do, breathing falling into sync and eyelids drooping despite the sun still hanging in the sky. They’ll have to get up eventually, figure out dinner, maybe take a stab at schoolwork before inevitably getting sidetracked by team gossip and recounting favorite episodes of TV dramas. But all that can wait.

Some people spend their entire lives searching for just _one_ person they can love this completely. Suga closes his eyes and huddles in closer, and thinks for the millionth time that he can’t believe his luck.


	2. Tranquil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to give you happyhappy fluff and then immediately follow it up with angst, but that's what I'm going to do. Here is EnnoSuga, the ~*Sawayaka Duo*~ of Karasuno. Minor injury and the tiniest, slightest implication of sexual content inside, but nothing that's making me bump this up any higher than a T rating just yet.
> 
> While the first chapter could more or less work as a standalone piece, this one contains some plot elements I'll be coming back to later on! I'm excited to share some of my dearest headcanons with you, such as Suga Was Raised By A Single Mother. Here's to hoping canon doesn't overrule me too soon.
> 
> To apologize for the Sad, the next chapter will be more lighthearted. I promise.

Once upon a time, Ennoshita Chikara quit the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

There was no grand proclamation, no ultimatum or list of demands. He just quietly stopped coming.

But to back up a little, before that, Ennoshita walked into Suga’s life with his handsome features and neatly-combed hair and perfect posture and asked Suga if he could tell him the way to the gym. Suga absolutely could. He could also include his phone number, blood type, and life story for a face like that. But it’s simpler to just lead the way, since the gym is where he’s headed anyway.

Ennoshita is easy to run plays with because he seems to know where his teammates are going before they even move. The ball is less predictable, but he has an uncanny ability to compensate if someone is just a hair too slow, or reads an attack wrong and takes off in the wrong direction.

So there’s virtually no way he doesn’t know exactly what Suga is doing with his meaningful glances and lingering touches. Ennoshita _reads_ people. So it must mean something that he always smiles in return, never shies away, and seems to be flirting right back from time to time – he certainly has a habit of standing closer than necessary and fluttering those sleepy eyelids, and once after practice he tells Suga that he’s never seen him look so _disheveled_ and congratulates him on his hard work.

But they aren’t going anywhere, and Suga is losing his mind.

\--

The first couple of days after Ennoshita leaves practice are difficult, because they aren’t even in the same year and Suga isn’t sure how serious Ennoshita is about quitting. But after a while, there is something terrible and traitorous inside Suga that actually starts to feel _relieved._ He’s too caught up in everything else to have the time to search Ennoshita out and attempt some sort of heart-to-heart. Instead, he pushes Ennoshita out of his mind as best he can and focuses on school and practice and his remaining teammates. Suga almost convinces himself that he’s over that particular crush.

The return of the repentant trio is an absolute blessing, and brings everything flooding back. Suga is over _nothing._ Ennoshita doesn’t seem to be either, though his usual flirtations are buried under a layer of shame.

Suga gives it a couple of weeks, and decides enough is enough.

“I like you,” he says, and Ennoshita smiles. “I think we should date.” The smile disappears.

“I’m sorry,” Ennoshita says, and there is real regret in his voice. “I’m really honored, but I can’t.”

“I understand,” says Suga, who completely does not understand. He’s just too flustered to say anything else. He’s never been rejected before. When did he get so cocky? He laughs and hates himself just a little.

Ennoshita chews on his lip and looks like he really wants to say something, but it’s probably better if he doesn’t.

“Let’s get to practice,” Suga says, punching Ennoshita in the arm and taking the first few steps away from this trainwreck.

“Listen, I still—“ Ennoshita tries, but Suga waves a hand and grins over his shoulder, because he does not want to hear that Ennoshita _still wants to be friends._ He only just discovered his apparently massive ego and already he knows it would never survive that.

\--

By some bizarre miracle, it’s not awkward at all. If anything, Suga and Ennoshita are closer than ever. They meet for lunch from time to time, linger behind after practice, and exchange increasingly personal details about their lives outside of school.

Suga tells him about the time he came home to a dark, empty house one evening and waited for four hours out in the cold, dialing his mother’s number again and again with no response. He tells him how scared he was that something horrible had happened to her, and about the guilt he felt over his relief when she returned and told him her purse had been stolen, but she was otherwise unharmed. Ennoshita listens raptly and rests a hand over Suga’s and tells him it’s normal. Anyone would have felt that way.

A few days later, Ennoshita’s hand hits the ball at a bad angle. Suga cleans the damaged nail beds with meticulous care, and diligently helps Ennoshita with his bandages every day until his hands look good as new.

If it were anyone else who had soundly rejected him, Suga suspects that there would be an unbreakable lingering distance between them. Instead, Suga is filled with a renewed sense that eventually, something has to give.

\--

Suga sighs against Ennoshita’s neck, luxuriating in the feeling of gentle fingers threading through his hair.

It’s the second time they’ve met like this, in a secluded corner behind the main school building like some old movie cliché. Only last time, the roles were reversed—this time it’s Suga with his back pressed against the rough cement wall, and Ennoshita gently pinning him and searching out the pulse point in Suga’s neck with his tongue.

“If you want, we can get out of here,” Suga murmurs. The implication is obvious, though they’ve never gone further than this physically.

Ennoshita presses a kiss to the corner of Suga’s jaw and makes a sound in the back of his throat like he’s considering it. Ultimately, though, he just pulls back enough to shake his head and offer Suga a smile that’s somehow self-deprecating.

“I think I just want this,” he says, like he’s admitting something private. Not that he’s embarrassed—Ennoshita is refreshingly calm and straightforward about his desires these days. “I like holding you.” As if to demonstrate, Ennoshita loops one arm around Suga’s waist and pulls him in closer, kissing him long and slow and unhurried. Suga’s heart flutters. No one has any business being this nonchalantly romantic.

Suga lifts one knee and plants the bottom of his shoe against the wall, affording him the leverage to drape his arms lazily over Ennoshita’s shoulders, and press Ennoshita’s lips open with gentle sweeps of his tongue. They are a perfect match for each other in some ways, easily falling into the same steady pace, neither one pushing too hard nor challenging too much.

(Not that Suga dislikes challenges, but there is an allure to this, too.)

When Ennoshita breaks the kiss to nuzzle into Suga’s hair, Suga bites his lip and remembers, with a twinge high in his chest, the ways in which they don’t match up quite so well.

“Whoever finally locks you down is going to have a very happy life,” Suga hears himself say, though he’s been trying not to.

“I’m not really the type to be locked down,” Ennoshita breathes just above Suga’s ear.

“Ah,” Suga says. All the pieces begin to fall into place. “So it’s not me?”

Ennoshita withdraws. He hooks a finger under Suga’s chin to draw his face up, looking troubled in a way that Suga wants to erase so badly it hurts.

“Is that what you thought? All this time?”

Suga tries to smile. His face betrays him with a grimace instead.

“I like you,” Ennoshita assures him with all the weight of a love confession, though it’s not that at all. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I’m just not…” He presses his lips together and searches for the words. Suga shakes his head and spares him the trouble.

“You’re not like that,” Suga says. “I get it.”

“Thank you.” Ennoshita kisses him again, relief mingling between them. Just to be sure, though, he checks in—“We don’t have to do this anymore, if you…?”

Suga presses their foreheads together and laughs, the tightness in his chest uncoiling. “No, no, I’ll be fine,” he says, and it’s probably true. “I just wish I’d asked sooner.”

“I should have explained,” Ennoshita counters. “You’re so perceptive all the time, I think I tricked myself into believing you were actually psychic.”

That assessment actually takes Suga by surprise. “You’re the one who’s perceptive,” he says. “Sometimes you have so much insight it almost scares me.”

Ennoshita reflects Suga’s grin. “If we’re _both_ psychic, it’s a shame we’re not regulars.”

“Foolish, really. We could be a real asset.”

“We’ll just have to use our powers to gossip about the starting players instead.”

Suga starts to laugh and Ennoshita catches it with a firm press of his lips.

So, Ennoshita Chikara will never be Suga’s boyfriend. That’s fine; Suga can work with that.

“Let me take you out sometime,” He says, though, because he can at least bargain a little.

“No,” Ennoshita says, and Suga’s heart sinks for just a moment before he continues, “I want to take _you_ out.”

Suga clutches at his chest dramatically. “You’re killing me here.”

“Forgive me,” Ennoshita says, and strokes Suga’s cheek.

Suga looks into the eyes of the one person who could most easily break his heart, and forgives him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me. Sorry if the timeline skipping around was too confusing!  
> Ennoshita, in case anyone is confused, is proooobably somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum, is still trying to figure it for out himself. He doesn't do committed long-term relationships at all, though. I hope that was somewhat clear!
> 
> Next chapter will be the first non-crow. See you soon!


	3. Disarming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THINGS ARE HEATING UP IN HERE, FRIENDS. I'm still not at the point of changing the rating to M, but here's a chapter where Suga and Kuroo get kinda suggestive with each other and watch a bad movie. We're mingling with other teams now! That theme might continue for a bit before I get some more crows in here. OUTREACH IS VERY IMPORTANT.
> 
> Somehow this chapter ended up being twice as long as the others, and I really have no explanation for myself. I also play with Kuroo's perspective a little bit towards the beginning, and hint at another cat Suga's been friendly with. Not sure if he'll get his own chapter or not, but we'll see.
> 
> What else? OH, tiny plot things are hinted at, and Daichi is discussed a bit. Slightest shades of KuroDai if you tilt your head to the side and really, really squint? I want to try to tide you over until the Big Important Daichi Chapter as best I can. WE'LL GET THERE, I promise.

“Hey, you coming?” Kuroo leans against the doorway of the gym leisurely.

Kai turns and looks at Kuroo, his expression uncomprehending at first, like he’s not sure why Kuroo is there. He shakes his head slowly and readjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“I have... other plans.”

“Hot date?”

Kai actually _blushes,_ which Kuroo is pretty sure he’s never witnessed before in his life. He whistles.

“Bullseye, huh? Anyone I’d know?”

Kuroo can tell Kai is considering not answering at all. But ultimately, for whatever reason, he does. “Karasuno’s… Sugawara.”

Kuroo thinks he’s matched the name with the wrong face, because he’s under the impression that Sugawara’s the pretty one who spends so much time trading puppydog eyes with Sawamura.

“Isn’t he dating the captain?”

Another moment of hesitation from Kai. “And the ace,” he finally says. “And the libero, apparently.”

“Interesting,” Kuroo says, stroking his chin. He pushes himself up out of the doorway. “Lucky guy.” He waves over his shoulder on the way out, and realizes he has no idea if he was talking about Sugawara or Kai.

_Interesting._

\--

The next time Karasuno visits, Kuroo catches Suga outside the locker room. He braces his arm against the wall to block the way, and smiles just wide enough to make his intentions abundantly clear.

“Hey,” Kuroo says.

“Hey yourself.” Suga raises an eyebrow.

“Got some free time?”

Suga would have pegged Kuroo for the more direct type, given the way he sizes people up with those predatory eyes like he’s trying to figure out just how to devour them. Why the vague insinuations? Suga doesn’t answer right away. It’s a tactic of sorts—nine times out of ten, if you offer people silence, they’ll keep talking to fill it.

“Wanna hang out?” Kuroo points a thumb lazily over his shoulder.

“Hang out.” Suga echoes the phrase flatly, eyebrow still quirked up so it’s halfway disappearing under his hair. He’s _trying_ not to be mean, he really is. It’s just so hackneyed, so reminiscent of some lowlife in a drama trying to hit on a girl outside a bar or something. Kuroo’s tone is all _“Where ya goin’ sweetheart?”_

Kuroo shrugs, either unaware or unbothered.

“Depends,” Suga concedes. “What’d you have in mind?”

There’s a momentary twitch at the corner of Kuroo’s eye that tells Suga he has no idea what he had in mind, but he improvises quickly.

“Dinner? A movie? I’m not too fussy.”

So it’s classic date ideas and not some sleazy invitation back to his room, then. Suga is starting to get a clearer picture of Nekoma’s captain, and it’s not one that he dislikes.

“What kind of movies are you into?”

“Probably nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Try me.”

The way Kuroo laughs is so carefree. “Action flicks, mostly. Big flashy explosions. Don’t mind trying something wholesome for a change, though.”

“No, no,” Suga says with a wave of his hand. “Pick the worst, most ridiculous action movie that’s playing. Tomorrow night?”

Kuroo was clearly hoping for something more in the realm of _right now,_ but he catches up fast enough. “Leave it to me.”

Suga gives a nod of approval. “Absolutely nothing wholesome, okay?” He winks.

Kuroo cracks a grin that Suga has a little trouble walking away from.

The feeling is pretty damn mutual. Kuroo watches him go, then slumps against the wall and exhales heavily.

Sounds like fun.

\--

Suga gets a call early the next morning. More expectations defied—he would have assumed Kuroo to be the kind of guy who sleeps in on the weekends.

“Found something perfect,” Kuroo informs him.

Suga smirks against the phone. “By ‘perfect,’ I hope you mean ‘awful.’”

“There’s only one place that’s still showing it. The rest pulled it ‘cause it bombed so bad.”

“Pulling out all the stops,” Suga says, letting himself be just a little bit impressed.

“I always do.”

“Don’t get my expectations up too high if you’re just gonna let me down,” Suga warns him.

Kuroo laughs in that perfectly laidback way again. “I always follow through,” he says, and Suga can’t help but believe him.

“When should I expect you?”

“That’s the catch,” Kuroo says. Oh, there’s a catch. “I know you said _night,_ but they’re only playing matinees. Last showing’s at three.”

“Come at two-thirty,” Suga says. “It’s risky in broad daylight, but I’m going to enlist you in a pretty major snack-smuggling operation.”

“Avoiding theater prices. Smart.” It’s Kuroo’s turn to be impressed. “Didn’t think you could be so devious.”

“Oh,” Suga says, “you’ve got a lot to learn.”

\--

Kuroo arrives looking exactly like himself—which is to say that his hair is arranged in the usual mess, only with a damp sheen like maybe he's put some kind of product in it. Black jeans sit low on his hips, accented with a studded belt. Underneath his artfully distressed jacket, Suga can make out that his t-shirt is emblazoned with the word HEARTBREAKER, in English. The whole ensemble expertly toes the line between ironic and dead-serious.

He's bold enough to kiss Suga hello—just a quick peck, as casual as if he didn't have to think about it at all, but Suga suspects there's very little about Kuroo that isn't calculated.

"You ready?"

"Yes, especially considering you're ten minutes late." There is no real malice in Suga's words, but it is worth mentioning if only to regain even footing after that kiss. He gives Kuroo his best _you're not so slick_ look.

Kuroo wags a finger at him. "Five minutes is fashionably late, and thus still on time. So I'm actually only five minutes late."

Suga rolls his eyes good-naturedly and starts walking. "We're on a tight schedule. I did say the snack thing was _involved_ , didn't I?"

"I think 'major' was the word you used."

"Well. I wasn't exaggerating."

Kuroo shrugs, as if to say _fair enough_. He walks with a relaxed slouch to his shoulders and his hands shoved casually in his pockets, but his strides are so infuriatingly long as to make  it all too easy for him to keep up with a Suga who is hurrying more than he really has to.

Suga leads them to a market, rather than the convenience store. More favorable prices, he explains, and easier to navigate when time is of the essence. Suga picks out candy with businesslike efficiency, then asks Kuroo about his preferences. Suga shoots down the idea of chips immediately—impractical packaging, bulky, too noisy—but nods in approval at the bars of dark chocolate. Drinks are a complex matter, Suga explains. They will be limited to one standard-sized can each and have to ration carefully throughout the course of the film. This, too, is a reason not to select salty snacks.

Once outside, Suga looks Kuroo up and down critically. 

"See something you like?" Kuroo sounds at least surprised, if not unnerved.

"Your clothes are too tight," Suga says, holding up a candy bar. He's talking about the snacks, _please._

Kuroo's lips curl dangerously, and he steps in close. Finally, he flips one side of his jacket and shows it to Suga, like he's a drug dealer or something. "Inside pockets," he says.

Suga nods his appreciation, though it's too likely a coincidence rather than actual foresight. Still, he unloads some of the food onto Kuroo.

"Chocolate on one side, and try not to press it too close against your body or it'll melt. Don't cross your arms or anything."

"Yes, sir." There is amusement in Kuroo's tone, but he's quick enough to comply. "You're an old pro at this, eh?"

"I take snacks very seriously," Suga says with a solemn hand over his heart. Then he leans over to tuck hard candies into his socks. He works with confidence, an alarming quantity of sweets disappearing into pockets and sleeves and even, amazingly, under the back of his shirt collar. The drinks get stashed in the pockets of Suga's jacket, which he drapes over one arm and arranges carefully until neither the shape nor weight of the cans are apparent.

"I'm gonna have you handle the tickets so I don't have to move around so much," Suga says.

Kuroo shrugs. "I'll handle whatever you want me to."

Suga stares at him hard, attempting to call his bluff. "Promise?"

"Would I lie to you?"

It really doesn't seem like it. Suga gets the impression that Kuroo's spell is an easy one to fall under—he has to remind himself that he still hardly knows this guy.

"No idea."

\--

Getting into the theater goes off without a hitch. The flustered teenager who takes their tickets is too distracted by Kuroo's smile to even pay attention to Suga half hiding behind him. 

In the dimness of the theater, it takes Suga's eyes a moment to adjust enough for him to realize that the room is completely empty. He scans the rows over a second time just to be sure, but the previews have already started and every single seat is vacant.

"First balcony row has the best view," Suga says.

But Kuroo shakes his head and takes Suga's hand, leading him past it. "We don't need a good view. Gotta be the back row."

Suga raises an eyebrow, but... okay. He's called enough of the shots so far, and it could be interesting to see what Kuroo is thinking.

Kuroo leads them to the middle of the back row, counting seats under his breath to make sure they're dead center. Suga plops down in the seat next to him, and before he can even wonder which armrest to use, Kuroo lifts the one between them and folds it back. Oh, so he's planning to get cozy.

"Back row," Suga says thoughtfully, pointedly declining to comment on the way their arms brush when Kuroo settles back in his seat. "I'd ask if that's because you're tall, but we're the only ones here."

"Because I'm tall?" Kuroo angles his body towards Suga, sleepy eyes actually opening a little wider in interest.

"You know, because anyone sitting behind you would have trouble seeing."

Kuroo laughs and retrieves one of his chocolate bars, tearing the packaging open with his teeth. "Nah, never been a problem."

And Suga can see that's probably true; the way Kuroo reclines, the top of his head doesn't hit much higher than the back of the seat.

"Hmm," Suga says. "Enlighten me, then."

"You serious?" Kuroo smirks. "You don't go to movies a lot, do you?"

Suga shrugs. "Asahi doesn't like loud noises, Nishinoya can't sit still that long, and when I'm with Daichi we'd rather be able to talk."

"Ah." Kuroo nods and folds his arms behind his head, casting his gaze up to watch specks of dust dance through the beam from the projector. "Back row's the makeout row. Nobody facing you, and the speakers cover up noises pretty good." Kuroo has a way of talking, sometimes, that makes it seem like he's telling a joke where he himself is the punchline. It's the only thing that keeps statements like that from being incredibly obnoxious.

"Ah, so that’s why movie dates are so popular," says Suga, who is usually not such a babe in the woods. It makes sense; he just wouldn't have chosen a location quite so loud or crowded himself. 

Not that it's crowded _now._ Given the unexpected private showing, it's hard for Suga to deny the allure.

Kuroo clears his throat, still staring up at the ceiling. "So you're steady with those three, yeah?"

Suga hums, thinking. It's not the easiest thing to explain in words well enough to do it justice. "More or less. Asahi and Nishinoya are kind of a package deal. Daichi's... something else." In more than one sense of the phrase.

"What does he think of all this?"

"Daichi?" Suga knows who Kuroo means, but clarifying buys him a little extra time. "He didn't get it at first. He has a one-track mind, you know? He can't focus on that many things at once, so it didn't make sense to him."

Kuroo meets Suga's eye again, and takes mental notes on the way Suga makes that dig at Daichi's intellect sound so adoring. That's some real skill. 

"And now?"

"He came around. He likes it."

"Huh?" _Okay with it_ Kuroo would understand, but _likes it?_ What does that even mean?

Suga smirks at Kuroo's blank expression and leans against him in the dark to whisper in his ear.

"He gets off on it," Suga says.

_ Maybe _ it's not the best idea to divulge a weakness like that to the rival captain of all people, but Suga can't resist.

"No shit?"

Suga leans back and smiles serenely, silently daring Kuroo to accuse him of lying.

"Damn." Kuroo laughs under his breath. He pretends to watch the screen for the time being. There's a long silence while he lets that one sink in. "So, by going out with you, I'm indirectly giving him a good time?"

Suga can't tell if Kuroo is into the idea or not, and maybe that's for the best. "Depends," he replies calmly.

"On?" 

Suga pops a piece of candy in his mouth and chews pensively before answering. "Daichi's interest lies in others making me happy."

"So you're saying you haven't decided if you're having fun yet?"

"Hmm. It's not like it's been _bad,_ even if you were late." Suga sidles up closer to Kuroo and leans against his shoulder. "But we're not even through the previews yet."

Kuroo nudges Suga just enough to slip an arm around his shoulders and pull him in closer. It feels like a surprisingly possessive gesture, but for the moment Suga is okay with being possessed. Kuroo, face thrown into stark contrast in the low light, is making that sizing-you-up-for-the-kill look again. Suga inclines his face in silent assent, and Kuroo doesn't hesitate a moment longer to kiss him.

The first thing Suga notices is that Kuroo _definitely_ knows what he's doing. Suga has kissed his share of teenage boys, and Kuroo has none of the usual overeager clumsiness so common to that particular demographic. Kuroo is steady and confident; he doesn't waste any time with tentative closed-mouthed kisses, opting instead to skip straight to finding a good angle to press his tongue against Suga's. He tilts Suga's head back with one broad thumb against his jaw and almost bears down on him briefly, then backs off a little to follow Suga's lead for a while.

Suga happily gives chase. 

The second thing Suga notices is that Kuroo smells _incredible._ The light metallic taste of his mouth mingles with the scent of the air before a storm, cut through with something sharp, like pine maybe. Suga kisses firm and sure, breathing in deep and trying to memorize the surprisingly comforting presence that is Kuroo. It must be a captain thing.

Suga isn't really sure how much time has passed until they are interrupted by a near-deafening explosion from the speakers. Suga whips his head towards the screen, dazed. Some sort of warehouse appears to be up in flames, and two men wearing obnoxiously large sunglasses are talking in hushed tones about who could have possibly done such a thing. Suga cracks up.

"Wait, wait, are these guys good or bad?" Either way, the blaze behind them is embarrassingly low-quality CGI and casts no light on them at all.

"Well, I only read the online reviews," Kuroo says, "but the one with the bad hair is a double agent, I think."

Suga scrutinizes both men—one with 90s boy band spikes and the other with a greasily slicked-back mullet. Suga snorts.

"You're gonna have to be more specific. I'm struggling."

Kuroo laughs too—a crisp, dry sound, and shakes his head. "Good point. The taller one, then. The other guy's the hero, if you can believe it."

Kuroo gives a colorful outline of what he understands of the plot: a kidnapped daughter, a misguided infiltration attempt, a wayward scientist-turned-aspiring-world-conqueror... Suga accuses him of making things up a couple of times, and Kuroo huffs, affronted by the notion that he is in any way responsible for such a miserable mess of a plot.

They talk over the action sequences, sometimes shouting at the characters on screen, relishing the privilege the deserted theater affords them. During a couple of slow scenes full of trite expositional dialogue they fall back into kissing, but before long there is always another baffling shootout or physically impossible car chase to dissect.

"I have to say," Suga says, finishing off the last of his white chocolate, "I think the back row has been highly mischaracterized. I was told to expect makeouts, but this is clearly the sarcastic comments row."

"Nah, that's your fault," Kuroo says, crossing his arms. "You've defiled the purity of the makeout row with your banter."

"My fault?" Suga recoils in mock indignation. "At _least_ half of this commentary has been you."

"You're a bad influence," Kuroo says. "Just face it, Sugawara. You are a corrupting force in this world. I've never talked this much during a movie in my life."

"I have trouble believing that." Suga twists his lips to one side for a moment, considering. "You're the type who loves the sound of your own voice. I can tell."

"I'm serious." Kuroo shrugs like he can hardly believe it himself. "But I've never had so much fun at a movie, either.”

Kuroo is damn _cute_ , when it comes down to it. Suga gives him a hard shove with his shoulder, but follows it with a genuinely appreciative smile.

“I’m coming around on the whole movie thing myself, actually.”

“Hey, if you’re ever in Tokyo again…”

“Play your cards right,” Suga says, trying to sound aloof but still smiling.

\--

When they part ways, Suga politely declines being walked back to his room. But he does kiss Kuroo one last time and whisper,

“There are movie theaters in Miyagi, too, you know.”


	4. Contradictory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy guess who's nervous about having written something for a pairing with a fairly sizable and passionate fanbase for once, instead of an obscure ship that only I care about? YUP THAT'S ME... OiSuga fans, please forgive me if I've failed you! But I hope I haven't.
> 
> There's a little bit of implied Oikawa/?????? thrown in there somewhere! Have fun! Next time we'll prooooobably be taking a detour back to crows for a while.

Suga has given some thought to captains lately. For all that they seem to have virtually nothing in common in most areas—and take to staring each other down like they're ready to throw punches when you get a couple of them in the same room—there is a particular quality that they all seem to share. Suga can't really pin it down well enough to define it, but he's started to be able to pick out the Captain Trait pretty well in people around him. Besides Daichi, there are two others on his own team who also have it. In Kuroo, it shines through unexpectedly where his first impression doesn't suggest it at all.

Oikawa is an unusual case. At first Suga thinks Seijou's pride doesn't have the mysterious Captain Trait at all—but it becomes apparent before long that he _must_. Or at the very least, he has something else that's just as strong in its place.

It occurs to Suga that it's been a while since he took the initiative to ask someone out, and that he usually only does if he really, really likes someone.

It also occurs to him that, as much as he and Daichi have an understanding about Suga's dating life, it might be a different story if it involves Oikawa. Not to mention how Kageyama would feel. But Daichi has been adamant that Suga does not need to ask his permission, and it's not like Kageyama needs to know.

As for being the asker rather than the askee... well, it's not like he feels that strongly about Oikawa as it stands, but it wouldn't hurt for Suga to practice being on the other end of things more often.

The opportunity doesn't present itself until near the end of their third year, when Suga's curiosity has reached a peak. The school they are both sitting the entrance exam for is Suga's third choice. He has to wonder if Oikawa's relaxed demeanor is just an act, or if the school is even lower on his own list.

He manages to catch Oikawa's attention before the test starts, but only receives a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad before Oikawa turns away. He's nothing short of masterful when it comes to effortlessly brushing people off. Suga frowns and presses a finger to his temple. This is going to require different tactics.

Suga finishes before time is called, so he has time to go back over some of his answers and steal a few glances at Oikawa. Glances that tell him absolutely nothing, unfortunately; neither Oikawa's posture nor his expression give anything away at all.

When it's all over, Suga redoubles his efforts and follows Oikawa out of the exam hall. There's no time to waste waiting for their eyes to meet. Instead, he waits for Oikawa to finish chatting with a girl whose uniform Suga doesn't recognize, then marches right up and grabs his wrist before he can waltz off and disappear.

"Have dinner with me," Suga says, and it's just barely a suggestion. Without the subtly soft edge on the end, it would be a command.

Oikawa blinks and Suga watches his eyes refocus, like it's taking him a moment to decide to actually look at the person speaking to him.

"Why?"

"I'm curious," Suga says, and there's another change in Oikawa's eyes—this time they go wide, and Oikawa's head tilts back like he's recoiling just a little. It dawns on Suga that he's _shocked_. This guy who's not used to being caught off his guard.

"About men?" Oikawa half-whispers, stunned.

Suga snorts, and laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over while Oikawa reaches an arm out uselessly into the open air and splutters.

"No, no," Suga manages breathlessly, wiping a tear from his eye. "Those particular curiosities have been _thoroughly_ satisfied."

"Then..."

Suga steps in closer and Oikawa, despite still being completely thrown off, stands his ground and stares Suga down. Confrontation, at least, is something he's accustomed to dealing with.

"You have a terrible personality," Suga says.

Oikawa blinks.

"But," he continues, "it's not every day that I meet someone who pulls his team together as well as you always have. Not everyone has so many people who trust them completely."

Oikawa is caught up on the insult for a step too long to catch up to the compliment before Suga goes in for the final blow.

"Show me what they see in you," Suga says, his voice dropping low and sultry. "Tooru."

Oikawa is not a person who can easily be made to blush or shudder. But he does feel a prickle at the back of his neck trying to reconcile that this is the same guy who's so full of innocent optimism and encouraging smiles on the court.

"My, I guess I don't mind trying anything once." He rests his arms over his chest and inspects his fingernails.

Suga pouts at the break in eye contact and improvises fast. He fishes a pen out of his bag and grabs Oikawa's hand, scribbling an address on his palm.

"Six-thirty. Wear something nice."

 

\--

 

Truthfully, Suga isn't entirely sure that Oikawa will even show. It's not like people normally plan a lot of other things on an exam day, but it is short notice, and a somewhat dubious invitation. There's a breath Suga is holding until he rounds the corner onto the correct street—and there, thankfully, is Oikawa leaning artfully against the adjoining storefront, reading something on his phone with a blank expression. He is in the same clothes he sat the exam in, but if Suga isn't mistaken, he's changed out his shoes—brown leather loafers in place of the sneakers Suga seems to recall from before.

He's about to call out, but as soon as he lifts his hand Oikawa snaps to attention and smiles. Suga thinks it seems kind of tentative, maybe, but any hesitation or discomfort is barely detectable.

"Perfect timing," Oikawa says, locking his phone with a click and slipping it smoothly into his pocket. "I just arrived a moment ago, too."

He's preempting the typical exchange, Suga realizes—he wonders how many times Oikawa has asked someone if they've been waiting long, or had the same asked of him.

The restaurant hardly looks like a place for a couple of high schoolers to meet, with the delicate chandelier hanging above the hostess podium and the black walls cut through with white egg-and-dart trim. Suga catches the way Oikawa's shoulders relax in relief when he opens the menu and finds that the prices are much more agreeable than the decor suggests. He takes a moment before he speaks, planning his words carefully.

"Do you know this area well?"

Suga rolls his shoulders back, eyes drifting upwards. "Hmm, not really. I just happen to know the person who started this restaurant. I'd introduce you, but he's moved to Tottori for the time being to open another place there."

"A relative of yours?"

"A family friend." Suga doesn't intend to be enigmatic, but the interest in Oikawa's eyes isn't unwelcome. It can't hurt to have a few mysteries of his own.

Oikawa doesn't speak again until Suga orders nothing but a salad—he inquires after Suga's appetite, to which Suga responds that he's saving room for dessert. And then they are both silent again for a time. It feels like an unspoken battle of wills based on who is uncomfortable enough to need to break the silence first. Oikawa gives in again, though it could just be out of boredom.

"As I recall, you were the one who was supposed to have questions," he says. He's looking at his fingernails again. They're immaculate, and Suga can't imagine what he could be looking for.

"You're asking me to get straight to the point."

Oikawa fixes him with a passive stare. It's not exactly a question, so there's no answer either.

"All right." Suga shrugs good-naturedly, then scoots forward in his seat to lean across the table. "Kunimi."

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, but it's more of a deliberate gesture than genuine interest, so Suga continues.

"You're not close, and he didn't carry enthusiasm for what you were building on his own. Or, that's the impression I got, anyway. As an observer."

"I'm close with all of my teammates," Oikawa says, a pout turning down the corners of his mouth. "And he does have enthusiasm, in his own way."

Suga chuckles. "On that first count, that won't work on me. I know Kageyama, after all." He watches Oikawa take the hit, and sees the way he almost crosses his arms, but changes course and rests his hands on the table instead. "As for the second, that's exactly my point. He is motivated, but he wouldn't have reached that point on his own. Somehow, that was your doing."

The way Oikawa's ego swells is almost comically conspicuous, but it doesn’t slow him down. "Hmm. And so?"

"I want to know how you did it." Suga props his cheek against one hand. "How does a lazy, apathetic person become an invaluable regular under the guidance of someone he'd hardly even call a friend?"

Oikawa licks his lower lip, a tight little nod indicating that he understands what Suga is after now. His eyes flit to one side as he thinks it over, but he tilts his head to the side and speaks airily as if the answer is exceedingly simple. "I was the one who saw Kunimi's potential as a decoy." He spreads his fingers on the table and takes a breath that raises his shoulders. "You said 'lazy,' and I suppose that's true, but that translates to stamina, too. Someone who uses their energy sparingly has enough endurance to stay on the court longer than most. I offered him a way to play that he didn't hate."

The words themselves seem understated, but Suga recognizes Oikawa's bragging for what it is. Not that his pride is unwarranted, in this case; that sort of insight is commendable. "I see. So it was the same thing with that domineering, in-your-face thing Matsukawa does?"

"Mm," Oikawa nods. "And Kindaichi's reflexes compensating for his lack of flexibility."

Suga chews on his lip. It's deceptively simple. "Most people would take the approach of trying to train everyone out of their weaknesses."

"But I don't view them as weaknesses," Oikawa finishes. He seems pleased, interestingly enough, that Suga understands this much.

"And if I were your teammate?"

It's a challenge, clearly. Especially because it's possible for what Suga is suggesting to move outside of the hypothetical. They could end up at the same school.

"You'd never be a starting player," Oikawa says, and even though Suga knew to expect an answer, it throws him completely off-balance. He gulps, and reminds himself that there's no reason to be so affected by an off-hand hypothetical like this. Still, his voice is a little harsh when he answers.

"Why?"

"I'd use you as a secret weapon."

"You'd _use_ me?" Suga's eyes are fire, all bright and full of intrigue.

"Everyone is being used by everyone else in this world." Oikawa shrugs. "That's life, after all."

Suga frowns, not unhappily, but with the effort of dissecting those words. "What do you think I'm using you for right now?"

Another challenge.

"To satisfy a whim." He says it like he's sure of it, though it's more likely little more than a stab in the dark. The raptness with which he watches Suga's face for any sign of confirmation doesn't go unnoticed.

"But, in other words," Suga says, "isn't that the same as being interested in someone based on their own merits?"

It's not like Oikawa is a stranger to having his merits recognized. If he looks taken aback, it's only because "interested in" is a notable turn of phrase coming from someone who asked him here for largely mysterious reasons. He gets caught on that just long enough that, though he opens his mouth, Suga beats him to the next word.

"So, to put it another way, when you say that you'd use me as a secret weapon—" Suga leans his elbow on the table and toys with a strand of his own hair— "first, you're saying you'd do what would benefit the team most."

Oikawa shrugs. That's fair enough.

"And second," Suga continues, "you're saying that you'd put me in a position to play to my strengths. You'd be doing what's best for me."

The food arrives, and Oikawa makes a big show of thanking the waiter even more politely than is really warranted, frankly, so Suga just smiles sweetly and nods in agreement. He doesn't want to overdo it.

"Is this really your first date with a guy?" Suga immediately takes a bite of his food so he has an excuse to answer Oikawa's wide-eyed gawking with nothing but a shrug.

"Do I seem like the kind of guy who makes a habit of this?"

Suga chews slowly, enjoying the tension that builds in Oikawa's shoulders for each millisecond he doesn't answer. He wonders if he could make him sweat if he kept him waiting long enough. "Well, sort of."

Oikawa full-on pouts, finally breaking the illusion of the straight-laced paragon. "How?"

Suga sighs, though not unkindly. "You're so charming." He starts with that, because the praise might offset any indignation he's caused so far. "But not always just in the way of someone who's minding his manners."

Oikawa twirls his fork idly, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "And what does that have to do with...?"

"Well, it's not like you exactly _turn it off_ when you're talking to men. When our waiter walked away, he was blushing."

Oikawa's head whips around although the waiter is long gone by now, and Suga realizes too late that he could be feeding into a dangerous ego. If Oikawa honestly never noticed that he was getting attention from anyone besides girls, who knows what that knowledge could do to him.

For now, though, when Oikawa turns back to Suga he's wearing a calm, level expression. "I don't see you blushing, though."

Suga laughs. "I asked you to dinner. After that you need me to blush, too?"

Oikawa makes a discontented sound and samples more of his food. Suga gets the impression he's trying to get him to admit something, but they're probably both a few steps away from getting there.

"It's not like you wouldn't have options if that's what you were looking for," Suga tries, though he might not quite be on the right track.

Oikawa looks intrigued enough, for what it's worth. "Options?"

"Want me to start with your team? Tell you who would fall right into your arms in a heartbeat if you asked?"

Suga watches Oikawa's eyes go dark, and then a flush spread over his cheeks and nose so quickly that he buries half his face in his hand to hide it. His voice is muffled considerably when he speaks, but Suga doesn’t need to decipher the words to understand the general sentiment: now that he takes a moment to think about it, Oikawa _already knows_.

Suga turns his attention to his food and lets Oikawa steer the conversation back to safer waters—the training regimen he'll stick to over break, techniques he's been considering, which schools have this or that reputation these days. It's interesting enough that Suga gets caught up in it for a while and forgets to tease until it's time for dessert and Suga orders ice cream for Oikawa to _cool him down_. Oikawa fumbles his words for a moment and then excuses himself to the restroom.

For himself, Suga orders a slice of marble chiffon cake with whipped cream frosting, the kind he knows the restaurant offers _huge_ portions of to make up for how light and airy it is. He tries, really tries, not to look self-deprecating about asking for it, but it must not completely work because the waiter gives him a sympathetic smile. At least he's in good company, then, as a sweets junkie.

When Oikawa returns, Suga looks for any evidence that he was in there splashing water on his face, but there's frankly nothing to see. Oikawa looks as polished as ever.

Or he does until he misses his mouth three times with his spoon before taking a successful bite of his dessert. It’s a small blessing, Suga reasons. Oikawa is too distracted to judge him for the cake slice nearly the size of his face, but he suspects he may have to guide him out of the building so he doesn't smack into something. Emergency room visits are not a good end to a date, which Suga unfortunately knows from experience.

"You doing okay?"

When Oikawa lifts his gaze, his eyes are a little hazy. He blinks a few times and seems to come a ways back to his senses. "Listen, Sugawara."

Suga notices at that moment that it's the first time Oikawa has actually addressed him by name. He inclines his head and gestures for Oikawa to go on.

He doesn't. At least not right away; he seems to struggle and change his mind several times. "Work hard on your exams."

"I planned to," Suga says hesitantly, the last syllable lifting like it's a question.

OIkawa presses his lips together and swallows. "If we go to the same school..."

"Ah," Suga says, and glances at the tablecloth. "Actually, there's something about that I want you to understand."

Oikawa leans forward, just slightly, but Suga catches it all the same.

"Whether we're on the same team or not, I'm telling you now—I _will_ be a starting player."

Across the table Oikawa's chest rises and falls gently, and his shoulders relax. It's almost like he's relieved at the challenge. He is back in his element, after all.

"How interesting," is all Oikawa says, but there are a thousand more words lurking in the casual tone of his voice.

The school they sat the exam for today has its advantages, Suga thinks. And he probably scored fairly well. Maybe he's been unfair in ranking it third on his list, after all.

 


	5. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK, FINALLY. This update has been slow in coming because of A) Life Stuff, and B) I had three chapters in progress and couldn't decide what to put where. Yamaguchi's chapter won, and I really pushed myself to get it done so I could post it today, because it's my birthday! So this is my present to you.
> 
> This chapter is a little bit different because I wanted to spend some time letting Yamaguchi and Akiteru interact, because their dynamic intrigues me. Also, this chapter is a little more plotty than previous ones. As a result, the next chapter might also be kind of... different. It might not even have a date in it. We'll see.  
> I did leave this on a cliffhanger, which I apologize for, but it's my way of kicking my own ass and motivate myself to update more quickly this time.
> 
> Thank you for returning after my long absence! I'm so grateful to every single person who's still reading this!

“Suga…san?”

He looks up at the sound of his name, not expecting to see Yamaguchi in the classroom doorway, wrist clasped awkwardly in the opposite hand. Yamaguchi has come a long way in just one year, but everything about him seems uncertain right now—even the new form of address he’s apparently decided to try out with Suga.

Like a good senpai, Suga gives him a reassuring smile.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure,” Suga says.

Yamaguchi balks. “Actually, it’s more like I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t tell him anything at all for a long moment.

“Maybe it’s a question after all,” Yamaguchi mutters. He stares roughly in the direction of Suga’s knees.

Suga weaves through desks and sits sideways in a seat near the door, gesturing Yamaguchi to the one next to it. He has a feeling whatever this is might come a little more easily sitting down.

Yamaguchi folds his long limbs into the seat and tries eye contact. He’s still visibly self-conscious, but his small smile is as relieved as it is apologetic.

“Everything okay?” Suga prompts, keeping his tone light.

Yamaguchi nods. He takes a deep breath, determination setting his eyes. “I thought maybe—do you—that, uh, we could do something together? Before you graduate.”

Now he’s in familiar territory; Suga is used to conversations like this. He wouldn’t have predicted it from Yamaguchi, but…

“That sounds nice. I could use some time to relax, actually.”

Yamaguchi nods to himself like he’s trying to confirm that Suga really did just say yes.

“Did you have something in mind?”

Yamaguchi silently congratulates himself on preparing for this properly. It feels good to be able to say yes. “I thought maybe shopping?”

“Perfect,” Suga says.

Yamaguchi sincerely hopes so.

\--

Yamaguchi shows up on the Tsukishima doorstep with a too-dry mouth and too-moist palms. He feels a little sick to his stomach, but also like maybe he doesn’t have a stomach or any other organs inside him at all.

Tsukki’s mother greets him at the door just when he’s trying to remember whether he’s actually knocked yet or not.

She blinks at him, confused, just as he’d expect someone to look at a flimsy, empty shell of a person like himself.

“So sorry, Tadashi-kun! Today, Kei is…”

“Out at a live show,” Yamaguchi supplies. “I know, I’m actually here to—“

“He’s looking for me, Mom!”

Akiteru’s voice sounds from somewhere deep in the house, but he appears in no time at all, sock-clad feet padding against the floor. He leans to one side and waves to Yamaguchi from the end of the genkan.

Once Akiteru’s books have been cleared away to make room for tea and snack on the living room table, Mrs. Tsukishima apologizes for needing to run a few errands and excuses herself to head for the market.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Akiteru muses. “Now we can talk freely.”

Yamaguchi isn’t so sure of that, for his part. He sips his tea silently. Akiteru knows as much as Yamaguchi told him in a few stilted text messages, which isn’t much. Just that he needs advice. That he has a date. Sort of. It might be a date.

Akiteru rests his face on his hand. “So, first things first. Why aren’t you at that live house with Kei?”

Yamaguchi bites his lip. “He won the ticket in a sweepstakes. We tried to get another, but they sold out too fast.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Akiteru says, focusing on a cookie so he’s not staring Yamaguchi down during this line of questioning. “You didn’t happen to buy one off a scalper, planning to surprise Kei by meeting up with him? Is that where you’re going tonight?”

Yamaguchi blushes so hard he has to put down his tea, feeling suddenly overheated. He shakes his head.

“It’s someone else,” he says softly. And then, even quieter. “Just once. Just… to make sure.”

“Hmm.” Akiteru considers that with a soft smile on his face, to Yamaguchi’s great relief when he dares to peek. “Okay. Let’s find you something to wear.”

Akiteru’s closet is mostly boxes—he hardly stays at home anymore—but there is a neat row of shirts that Akiteru shuffles through one at a time, pausing now and then to look Yamaguchi over.

He picks out a charcoal-grey button-down and holds it out, satisfied. “Take this. Follow me.”

Yamaguchi pauses in the doorway to the opposite bedroom and bites his lip.

“Is this okay?”                 

  
Akiteru smiles and shrugs. “I lent Kei some things a long time ago, and I’m pretty sure he never wore them even once. Let’s see if we can find them and reclaim a couple things, huh?”

Yamaguchi doesn’t usually go into Tsukki’s room without him, and it feels sort of wrong. But there doesn’t seem to be any point in trying to argue, so he stands behind Akiteru and collects garments that are handed to him in slightly shaky arms.

Just when the pile is starting to get unwieldy, Akiteru says “Aha!” and grabs the lot away from Yamaguchi. He replaces it with a single teal blazer and a thin white belt.

“The jeans you have on now are fine. Try the rest of that on and see what you think?”

Yamaguchi does, and finds Akiteru back in the living room once he’s finished. Akiteru’s face lights up, and he gets to his feet.

“How do you feel?”

“A little...” Yamaguchi shifts from one foot to the other, fussing with the sleeves of the blazer. “What if I’m overdressed?”

“Top button,” Akiteru says.

“Huh?”

“Undo it.”

Yamaguchi complies before he has time to think about what he’s doing.

“See? Now you’re casual.”

Yamaguchi isn’t so sure. He swallows a wave of nausea, and the terror must be showing on his face, because Akiteru places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Trust me, you look great.” Akiteru’s expression shifts on an afterthought, and he laughs. “Oh, if you _were_ going to that live show, we’d need a totally different strategy though. Not sure how Kei would feel about seeing you in my hand-me-downs.”

Yamaguchi stares at the floor, huffing something almost like a laugh in way of response. They usually don’t talk about… this. Isn’t a thing to just—not talk about? Ever? This is probably breaking some kind of rule.

Luckily, changes the subject.

“Split the check if you get dinner, okay? If you go in planning to do that, it’ll be less tense. Let’s see, what else…”

“How do I know what to talk about?” Yamaguchi blurts, because aside from his appearance, that’s probably his #1 worry.

“What does your date like?”

Yamaguchi scratches at his scalp. “Volleyball,” he mumbles.

“Lucky you—something you know a thing or two about,” Akiteru says. Yamaguchi grimaces, so Akiteru gestures for him to go on. “What else?”

“Practical jokes…” Yamaguchi bites his lip and thinks hard. “Wordplay. Those shows where they go hunting for Bigfoot and stuff like that.”

Akiteru grins, and Yamaguchi questions him with a raise of his eyebrows. “Nothing.” Akiteru waves a hand. “Just—that _would_ be your type, wouldn’t it?”

“What?”

“Never mind, sorry. Where are you two going, anyway?”

Yamaguchi feels kind of on edge now, but thinking about the spot he and Suga had agreed on is enough of a distraction for now.

“To a mall,” he says, rearranging his hair in the mirror. “I figured there are a lot of shops, so if one thing gets boring, we can just go somewhere else.”

“Sounds safe,” Akiteru says, and Yamaguchi is struck by how reassuring that sounds, when the same words coming from Tsukki would sound like cutting criticism. “Oh, I have an idea.”

Akiteru takes off to some distant part of the house, and leaves Yamaguchi alone with his thoughts a little too long.

“Sorry, here,” he says when he returns, and puts a simple black elastic loop in Yamaguchi’s palm.

Yamaguchi looks at him questioningly.

“Try tying your hair back? Humor me, just for a second,” he adds quickly when he sees the protest forming on Yamaguchi’s lips.

Yamaguchi’s shoulders slump, but he fumbles with the hair tie until he can get most of his hair to accept being gathered and bound.

“There,” Akiteru says, his voice quiet and satisfied. “You’re golden.”

\--

Yamaguchi spends two minutes on a bench before he feels too restless and relocates to sit by the fountain several meters away. That doesn’t last long either, because he badly needs to find a mirror, or a shop window he can use as one.

It’s hard to get a good look without people inside the buildings thinking he’s staring at them, but Yamaguchi is pretty sure he actually looks great. It’s a slightly terrifying experience, both because it’s unfamiliar and because he doesn’t trust himself. Yamaguchi feels cool and maybe even attractive, for once in his life. But would anyone else think so? What do people think is cool? His hand ghosts over the back of his head, feeling out the shape of the ponytail without disturbing it. Thank god for Akiteru—Yamaguchi never would have considered this on his own. But also he’s really not sure any of this is a good idea at all and maybe it never was and maybe—

Suga finds him straightening his shirt in front of a café, and greets him by clapping a hand firmly on his shoulder that (thankfully) only makes Yamaguchi jump a little bit.

Suga grins. “Is this place any good?”

Yamaguchi gulps and shakes his head. “I don’t know, I mean I’ve actually never… I was just…”

Suga takes in a breath just a little too light to be a gasp, but his eyes go wide and he takes Yamaguchi’s other shoulder in his other hand and turns him to get a better look.

“Yamaguchi! You look amazing!” He grins, and Yamaguchi’s knees almost give out. “You should dress like this all the time.”

Yamaguchi can’t find a response beyond petrified laughter before Suga is taking him by the hand and pushing through the door of the café. The tiny sound of a bell plinks overhead, and Yamaguchi is surrounded all at once by a collection of warm and uplifting aromas. A girl with inky black hair tied back into a tight bun greets them from behind the counter and disappears briefly to stow the mop she’d been pushing around. The rest of the little shop is completely empty—the only reason Yamaguchi had chosen it as his makeshift mirror.

“Do you mind?” Suga is asking, and Yamaguchi isn’t sure what he means at first. “I lost track of time and I didn’t really eat lunch today.”

Yamaguchi dares to smile, because he wants to be what Suga is to everyone else. He wants to be steady and reassuring. “It’s fine. I could use something too, actually.”

Suga chats with the barista, animated but indecisive, until he finally settles on something Yamaguchi doesn’t completely understand that involves steamed milk and black tea and an extremely strong floral scent that Suga identifies as lavender. Yamaguchi smiles crooked and shy and simply points to one of the daily brewed coffees. Medium size, nothing in it, no, no need to leave room for milk. The barista enthusiastically recommends orange chocolate scones, and they end up with four to share.

At the table, Suga eyes Yamaguchi’s cup with something between curiosity and suspicion.

“Are you really one of those people who can drink black coffee?”

Yamaguchi tries to find a way to nod and be humbly dismissive at the same time, and he’s not sure if he succeeds. “It’s what I usually drink, so…” He ducks his head to blow at the steam. “Milk and sugar make my throat feel weird.”

Yamaguchi regrets the words as soon as he says them, because it feels like a strange thing to say and he isn’t sure how to explain it further. But Suga just looks impressed.

“I’m weak when it comes to bitter things. Besides, even that much would keep me awake all night.” Suga makes a face, and his laugh is self-deprecating.

“I’m not great with bitter stuff either, actually,” Yamaguchi says. “This is a light roast, so it’s not as bad.”

Suga reaches towards the cup. “May I?” Yamaguchi nods, and Suga takes a cautious sip. His eyes scrunch shut and his tongue sticks out. “No good, I still can’t.” He takes a generous gulp of his own drink to wash the flavor away.

“It’s okay,” Yamaguchi says weakly. But he drinks his coffee like it’s no stronger than water, and Suga punches him in the arm like he thinks Yamaguchi is just trying to rub it in. It’s a little awkward, maybe, to hear only their own voices echo quietly in the otherwise-empty café, but Yamaguchi manages to steady his heart and they both end up grinning.

They hit up an electronics store next, where Suga gushes envy over shiny expensive smart phones and muses about whether he might be able to afford one to use at university. Then a couple of clothing outlets where Yamaguchi hesitates to show too much interest in anything in case he has bad taste, but Suga catches what he’s looking at a couple of times anyway and insists on how good that shirt or those shoes would look on him.

Suga doesn’t take Yamaguchi’s hand again, but sometimes a palm will rest on Yamaguchi’s shoulder or the small of his back, and Yamaguchi doesn’t even startle at it anymore. Inside a music store, he even taps Suga on the shoulder to get his attention, and leans forward to fit headphones over Suga’s ears for him. The song is one of Yamaguchi’s recent favorites, appropriately cool and understated, and it’s even something he discovered on his own and not by shuffling through Tsukki’s collection. Suga ruins Yamaguchi’s illusion of good taste in no more than four minutes, though, when he picks up the new single for a pop idol project that’s been popular recently, and Yamaguchi has to admit to knowing quite a bit more about the group than he should.

“Ritchan is so beautiful, isn’t she?” Suga says, like a man with no shame.

Yamaguchi blushes and points to a different girl on the CD cover. “I like… Hanako…”

Suga frowns. “No way, Ritchan is the cutest. I can’t believe I thought I could trust you.”

Yamaguchi laughs, and gets over his embarrassment enough to insist on buying the CD for Suga. “It’s a going away present,” he says, and pushes it into Suga’s hands just firmly enough that Suga can only accept it graciously.

Dinner is a casual affair at a mid-range restaurant that becomes increasingly noisy and packed as the meal progresses, so there’s not much opportunity for conversation aside from praising the food and sharing knowing smirks when they end up eavesdropping on the same group of noisy 20-somethings gossiping about absent friends. Yamaguchi remembers Akiteru’s advice to split the check, which seems to put Suga at ease.

“Can I walk you home?” It’s Yamaguchi’s last brave feat of the night, because it feels wrong to just part right away, and because it’s a nice night, and because walking home together is one of the most intimate things Yamaguchi knows how to do.

Suga agrees cheerfully, and they set out down the row of silent street lamps.

“Do you know which university you’re going to yet?” Yamaguchi fights to keep his hands still, because he’s remembered the ponytail and it’s really hard not to mess with it, make sure it’s still there.

“Not exactly,” Suga sighs. “I’ve narrowed it down a lot, but… in any case, I’ll probably end up somewhere in Tokyo.”

“Sounds nice,” Yamaguchi says. He likes the idea of big city life, but that’s still pretty far off for him.

“I wasn’t sure if I was gonna go at all, actually.”

Yamaguchi falters in his step, because Suga’s voice is quieter and more serious than it’s been all day. He looks curiously at Suga’s face, and slows down a little because Suga isn’t keeping up with his long strides.

“Really?”

Suga nods. “It’s silly, but I’ve never been away from my mom for very long before. It’s just the two of us, so I worry sometimes.” He turns his face up towards the sky and shakes his head, beaming in a way that’s brilliant but also feels just a little bit forced. “She could probably do with not having to take care of me all the time, though. I think it’ll be good.”

“You’re a good person, Suga-san.” Yamaguchi marvels. That kind of maturity is on a plane he can only aspire to.

Suga kicks the back of Yamaguchi’s shoe, and he stumbles.

“I’m pretty great, but it’s not because I have attachment issues.”

Yamaguchi laughs and finds his balance again.

“Help Ennoshita keep the new first years in line, okay?” Suga goes on. “He’s going to have his hands full.”

Yamaguchi smirks, his nose crinkling in a way that makes his freckles seem to dance in the evening light. “How bad could new members be after Hinata and Kageyama?”

“Fair enough,” Suga agrees, laughing.

It’s easy enough to chat idly as dusk deepens, and before long Suga points to a block of apartment buildings, and Yamaguchi falls into line behind him to make it up the narrow stairs.

At the third level, Suga turns to his right and stops dead.

Yamaguchi peers around him and catches a glimpse of a figure huddled two doors down. A woman, he realizes, who lifts her face—Yamaguchi sees light reflect off her cheek just enough that he can tell she’s crying—and Suga is pushing him back down a step, and then another.

“Should I go?” Yamaguchi whispers.

Suga nods. “Listen, I— thanks.” He kisses Yamaguchi’s cheek. “I’m sorry about this. I had a really good time.” Squeezes his hand. Hard, frantic.

“Good night,” Yamaguchi says, nodding quickly because he wants to be sure Suga understands.

Suga mouths the words back to him, and takes off at a sprint.


	6. Promising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say at the outset here that It Is Going To Be Fine. It won't always seem that way, but if you have any trust left in your heart for me, hold on to that.  
> This is... going to stretch the definition of what a "date" is, but arguably, there sort of is one?  
> As an apology for the angst, this chapter has two ships: we've got an early DaiSuga preview, and we've got a reprise for AsaSugaNoya. At least, let's pretend that's a proper apology and not just me being self-indulgent as always.  
> We're gonna get through this together.  
> Next chapter will proooooobably be... our first owl...??!  
> OH YEAH almost forgot to mention there's a very very brief, non-descriptive reference to two characters showering together, so. We aware of... that.  
> Anyway here's this thing, I wrote it with a malfunctioning monitor, and after I post this I'm going to box up my computer and send it for repairs because one third of my screen is green.

Suga sees to it that his mother sits on the couch. He drapes a blanket over her shoulders. She laughs lightly, makes comments about how she has a bad habit of getting Suga or herself locked out, doesn't she? About how it's so lucky that tonight is a nice, warm night at least. She's so good at this charade. A perfect actress when it comes to pretending everything is fine. Suga would almost buy it, if not for the drying tear tracks on her cheeks. Instead he swallows, not saying anything at all as he heats water in the kitchen. Because if he relaxes his throat enough to speak, he'll start crying, too. Only one of them is allowed to do that at once. They've always taken turns.

He takes deep breaths, does nothing but listen until he has a cup of tea to press into his mother's hands. He takes a seat beside her.

"What happened to your keys?"

She laughs again, and it's still just as convincing. She's had so much practice. Suga feels faintly ill.

"I left them on my desk at work, can you believe it?" She takes a deep breath, the only crack in her armor so far. "I wasn't paying attention and I walked right out without them."

"You should have called me." Suga puts a hand on her knee. "I was nearby. It takes two seconds to unlock a door."

"The stars are so pretty tonight," she says, and takes a slow, indulgent sip of her tea. "If I interrupted you and your friend, I would have missed them."

Suga doesn't like stories like this, because they haven't changed at all since he was a child. He's not sure if she still tells them for the child she hopes he still is, or if she's been telling them for the child inside herself all along.

"Did I scare your friend away?" she asks next, and tucks a wispy strand of hair behind her ear. "You could have invited him in."

"He had to get back," Suga says. His mother has said _your friend_ twice now in a way that she does from time to time--a way that makes him wonder how much she knows, and what she would think if it was everything. But that's a problem for another day.

"I see." She sips her tea again and turns the cup around and around in her hands like she's acting out steps in an aborted ceremony. "Maybe once you leave for university, we can leave your key under the mat. Then I won't have to call you all the way home from Tokyo to let me in."

She nudges him and grins. He doesn't smile back, and that's when she finally breaks.

"The company is going under," she admits, and puts up her hands before Suga can speak. "Koushi, Koushi, it doesn't change anything. I already have other options."

"Offers?" Suga asks. "Do you have an actual _offer?_ "

"I have--yes, well, I have an almost offer--"

"Almost isn't an offer. How long before it closes?"

"Koushi--"

"Was today your last day?"

She hangs her head. "Tomorrow is. But--"

"I'm getting a part-time job."

"No, you're not."

"Mama." Suga's hands ball into fists, and he knows his voice is too loud and too sharp but he has to make her understand. "I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go to university anyway."

"You're going," she says.

"I can go next year."

"No," she says, and Suga is taken aback by how quickly the desperation in her voice turns to firm resolve. "Don't do this, Koushi. I forbid it. You are not putting aside your future because of some minor setback--not _even_ a setback."

Suga works so hard at keeping his eyes dry that it makes his face feel hot.

"Mama, the money..." It's the word they don't say out loud. Suga knows he's crossing a line, but what else is there?

"I've already put it aside," his mother says. "Everything is taken care of. We're doing well, Koushi; we have been for a while."

But Suga knows they can't be doing _that_ well. He knows it because his mother has been wearing the same pair of heels for two years, and shoes are always the first indulgence she allows herself when there's extra money.

"Then let's _keep_ doing well." Suga's ears are ringing, so his voice sounds distant--so far outside himself that it feels eerie. "The university isn't going anywhere. I'm not in a hurry."

"This isn't up for negotiation." But she sees the look on his face and softens. "At least, not until morning."

Suga has made stupid decisions before. Not nearly as often as many of his peers, but it's happened. And twice, his mother has answered a call from him in the middle of the night and gone out to take him home, not asking a single question outside of "are you okay" until they've both gotten some sleep.

Suga can offer her the same in return. He can do that much.

So he nods, pulls himself together, and stands up when he feels that he can without disturbing the delicate balance holding the world in one piece around them.

"I love you," he says, almost shyly.

"I love you, my Koushi," she answers, and reaches out to pat his arm. "Everything will be okay, I promise."

 

\--

 

When Suga wakes up, his mother is already gone. He takes a cursory look around for a note, but there's nothing except for a scrap of paper taped to a container of fish in the fridge labelling it as breakfast. Suga seasons it generously with pepper flakes but hardly tastes a thing. He takes a long shower just for the relief of falling water blocking out his thoughts.

There's a text from Yamaguchi asking if everything is all right. He types back that it will be, and thanks him again. He texts Nishinoya, too--not with any real explanation, but letting him know that there's trouble at home and he's not sure if he can make their regular date this evening. Maybe Nishinoya can find a gentle way to tell Asahi.

Suga doesn't even think about dialing Daichi until he's already doing it. It's such a blessing and a curse to go on autopilot, to work so automatically that he doesn't have time to second-guess and wonder if he should hide his vulnerability, get his emotions under control.

Suga hears him pick up halfway through the second ring, even though he knows Daichi likes to sleep in on the weekend.

“Daichi,” Suga says, and the next thing out of his mouth is a sob.

“I’m coming over,” Daichi says. “Do you want me to stay on the line?”

Suga shakes his head, though he knows Daichi can’t see it. “I think I want to wash my face.”

“Then wash your face.” Suga can hear Daichi moving around his room, getting ready to go out. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

“Hang in there, Suga.”

When he hangs up, Suga holds the phone in both hands and squeezes it as hard as he can, holds his breath for a long moment, and when the screen doesn’t crack and shatter he feels just a little bit calmer. Strong enough to find the bathroom, run the tap, and splash his face until he doesn’t feel the itch and sting of tears.

He wanders back to the kitchen and supposes he's tidying up, but he doesn't remember a single detail of what he moved or put away while waiting to hear knocking.

When it comes, he is at the door and tugging it open in an instant. And there is his beautiful, perfect, steadfast soulmate, there when Suga doesn’t know how to go on, just like always. His breath shudders, and he falls into Daichi’s arms right there in the doorway, not caring whether neighbors might see. Not caring about anything at all but not having to hold his weight on his own feet anymore. He buries himself in his favorite warmth and finally lets his mind rest from all the worries because the only thought in his mind right now is Daichi, Daichi, Daichi.

They go to Suga’s room, settle in on his bed because the couch is too recently the scene of the argument with his mother. Daichi sits with his back to the wall and Suga lies slumped against him, cheek pressed to chest.

Suga plays a game sometimes where he tries to name Daichi's scent. It's hard to find even the most general of adjectives to fit, because it's not spicy or sweet or something Suga can compare to anything else in his experience. Once he used Daichi's shower after sleeping over for the first time. He popped the top off of Daichi's body wash and sniffed it, and thought _this is almost it._ But there were notes missing until Daichi slid the curtain aside and joined him under the gentle spray, pulled him into an embrace by his hips, and all of Suga's ability for descriptive thought was lost.

The closest he's come up with is "solid."

He crushes his face as hard as he can against Daichi's chest and just tries to breathe.

Daichi plays with his hair, brushes it back again and again, massages his scalp until Suga is almost in a trance.

When Suga has the wherewithal to sit up, he does, and he and Daichi face each other cross-legged with joined hands.

"My mom's company is done for." Suga punctuates this with a loud sniffle.

Daichi nods, silent and grave. He understands the weight of what this means, the way Suga doesn't fully trust anyone else to.

"So," Suga continues with a shaky breath, "I'm staying in Miyagi. I'm gonna get a job and--and just stay. Here."

"That bad?" Daichi squeezes Suga's hands.

Suga shrugs. "She's out of a job. It's bad."

Daichi tips in closer, hangs his head. "Geez... how rough for Mama."

Suga hiccups a single laugh, because Daichi gets it. And because he can't remember when Daichi started calling her Mama, but it makes his heart hurt pleasantly every time he hears it. He nods. Daichi kisses his forehead.

"You're worried about her," Daichi prompts. Because he knows Suga isn't crying over his own lost future--that's not his style.

"Worried sick," Suga admits. "She has it in her head that I'm still leaving. She won't listen to me."

"Stubborn Mama," Daichi says. He cups Suga's cheek in one palm and adds, "Stubborn Suga."

Suga frowns, so Daichi heads off his anger before it can rise up.

"Hear me out. I... talked to her, actually, last week. Because I wanted to ask about housing arrangements."

"What?"

Daichi hesitates. He lets out a thin exhale before continuing. "I found an apartment I liked." He's sheepish all of a sudden, and pink in the cheeks. "I wanted to see if we could... you know, share it."

 _"Daichi,"_ Suga breathes, not sure whether to feel angry or besotted.

"And you know what Mama said?"

"I don't," Suga allows.

"She said that moving in together is a big commitment." He nods at the way Suga's eyes go wide. "And that besides, she's already sent in the down payment on your dorm room."

Suga has to let go of Daichi to cover his mouth with both hands.

"She knows about us," he mumbles through his fingers. "For sure?"

"Seems like," Daichi says, scratching idly at the back of his head.

Suga feels faint. The good news is that this is just big and life-changing enough a revelation to push financial concerns to the back burner temporarily.

"And she's—what, okay with it?"

Daichi hums. "I think she's getting used to the idea. Not ready for us to settle down and adopt the five cats you probably want, but she did thank me for always looking after you."

Suga snorts. "As if it's not always _me_ taking care of your helpless ass!"

"Pardon?" Daichi pinches Suga's cheek and tugs. "Which one of us is soaked in the other's gross snot and tears right now?"

"It's the least you could do," Suga says, batting Daichi's hand away.

"Yeah," Daichi says. His smile is so warm, and it fills Suga up in an instant. "Yeah, it is."

That settled, Suga has to come to terms with the idea that there is a dorm already waiting for him in Tokyo, paid through the first month. Stubborn Mama indeed. No wonder she was so set on being right.

“There’s no night that doesn’t end in dawn,” Daichi says, fingers pulling steadily through Suga’s hair again. “There is no rain that doesn’t stop falling.”

Suga doesn’t even bother to try telling Daichi that he’s cheesy, because he knows he would end up telling him he’s perfect instead.

“Give it a trial run.” And damn it, he knows Suga too well. Knows he’s almost religious in his devotion to list-making and trial-running. “A few weeks, and if you come back to Mama reusing her tea leaves and eating expired soup out of a can, you can drop out and forget all about higher education.”

Suga huffs. He’s going to make it clear that he’s displeased, even if he is all but resigned to agreeing already.

“I can’t believe you’re teaming up against me.”

Daichi smirks, and then there’s a series of rapid thumps at the door. He raises an eyebrow.

“Nishinoya,” Suga says automatically, because he’d recognize that knock anywhere. He’s already sliding off the bed and grabbing his phone, so Daichi just follows like a shadow.

Nishinoya and Asahi are both at the door, and so are entirely too many grocery bags.

“Date night delivery!” Nishinoya announces, and marches past Suga and Daichi full of importance. He drops his share of the bags on the kitchen counter and marches back to grab the ones Asahi is holding as well. He pauses to point at Daichi. “Fourth wheel,” he accuses.

“It’s not night,” Daichi counters.

“Four is a normal number of wheels to have,” Asahi adds.

Nishinoya rolls his eyes. “If you two are going to get along all of a sudden, at least put the food away so it doesn’t spoil before it _is_ night.” He shoves Asahi in the direction of the kitchen. He doesn’t dare do the same to Daichi, but he does point for him to follow before grabbing Suga’s hand and dragging him in the opposite direction.

In Suga’s room, he and Nishinoya sit on the floor with their backs to the door because it’s been a habit for so long that neither of them can remember how it started. In the past it’s had the pleasant advantage of assuring that they aren’t accidentally walked in on with their tongues in each other’s mouths, but more than anything this spot is just inexplicably secure and comfortable.

They both take a deep breath. In, out.

“Asahi’s mad at you, you know,” Nishinoya says quietly.

Suga raises an eyebrow. “Asahi’s never mad.” But then he adds, “Why?”

“Because you only texted me and not him. He feels left out.”

“It’s not like that.” Suga shakes his head. “You’re a good messenger, and I was pretty sure you’d be sitting right next to each other anyway.”

“ _I_ know that,” Nishinoya declares, “but _he_ doesn’t.”

Suga sighs and picks lint off of his sock. “Okay, I got it. What’s my penance?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Nishinoya grins, but it’s a careful grin. Even more careful is the way he turns around and climbs into Suga’s lap to fix him with a direct stare. “Suga-san, you hurt Asahi-san’s feelings. And that’s why you’re going to say everything you want to say to him directly until graduation. Also, you gotta sit down and talk to him about what you did while Daichi-san and I cook for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Nishinoya relaxes and leans back a little, but he stays in Suga’s lap. “You can do that after you tell me what’s going on with your mom.”

Suga used to be anxious at times about how direct Nishinoya is, but he’s learned to follow these quick and deceptively simple thought patterns that dismantle layers of ambiguity. Suga’s text had referred to things happening _at home,_ so of course Nishinoya knew that couldn’t mean anything but his mother. Suga has a habit of burying difficult topics under euphemisms. Nishinoya tosses them aside reliably and finds the heart of the issue like it’s no more complex than breathing.

“She lost her job,” Suga says, because he’s already done this once today, so he knows how. “It’s not anything she did. The whole company is closing.”

Nishinoya holds his gaze with piercing eyes and says nothing.

“I told her I wasn’t going to Tokyo—“ he laughs—“and she and Daichi both told me that I am.” He shakes his head, the unspoken follow-up of _so I don’t know what to think anymore._

“Well, of course you’re going,” Nishinoya says. It’s a tone that’s usually accompanied by crossed arms or hands on his hips, but instead he plants his palms on top of Suga’s thighs. It’s comforting. “Your mom is, like, a superhero. She’s super-smart and everyone loves her and someone’s going to offer her a new job right away.”

“That’s what she said, too,” Suga says. He tries to smile, and can’t quite feel if he’s pulling it off or not.

“Besides,” Nishinoya goes on, “I’ve already gone through about twenty-five percent of my mourning process over not having you around anymore. You can’t just back out after that! You’re not allowed to play with my heart like that.”

Suga sort of wishes Asahi could witness this conversation, because it’s the kind of scene that makes him do this goofy, wibbly smile that’s mostly all affection and hardly nervous at all.

“What does the rest of this mourning process look like?”

“I’m not going to spoil it for you.”

“Spoil it for me a little?”

Nishinoya frowns. He tries to stare Suga down, but when it doesn’t work, he relents. “I’m coming to see you as soon as I can. You have to give me the real college experience for a whole weekend and be a really bad influence or I won’t forgive you.”

Suga shrugs. “Well, if it’s part of your process, I guess I can’t say no.”

Nishinoya presses their noses together, and they both grin, and the world feels less like it’s falling apart.

 

\--

 

As promised, Suga sits with Asahi on the couch while Nishinoya drags Daichi around the kitchen and explains how to prepare a meal as loudly as possible. The clanging of cooking utensils and Nishinoya’s unrelenting voice are a little startling, but Suga knows it’s a kindness. This way he and Asahi won’t be overheard, even sitting close by on the Couch of Difficult Conversations.

Suga snuggles into Asahi’s side, wraps an arm low around his back to try to soothe away some of the nerves he knows are lurking just below the surface of Asahi’s resolute demeanor.

“I’m sorry,” Suga says. He lets that sit in the air for a moment and listens for changes in Asahi’s breathing. “Nishinoya’s so much better at saying things to you in a way that doesn’t freak you out. So I chickened out and I promise I’m going to try to grow a spine.”

Asahi rests a hand on Suga’s knee. He takes a breath that raises his shoulders high, which is the bad kind of breath. But Suga’s not in any position to remind him to breathe from his stomach.

“I don’t want you to pull away from me,” Asahi says. “If there’s something I’ve done…”

“No, no.” Suga literally pulls away, but it’s only so he can scoot aside and coax Asahi to lie his head down in Suga’s lap. That way he can untie Asahi’s hair and run his fingers through it, because Asahi’s not quite as much of a sucker for having his hair played with as Suga is, but it still always makes them both feel better. “Get mad at me if you want. But don’t blame yourself for me taking my turn at being a coward.”

Asahi looks up at him, and blinks as a strand of hair passes over his eyelid. Suga brushes it back apologetically.

“I think I’m still the coward here,” Asahi says. “I don’t have any reason to think so, but… I keep worrying that the two of you are going to end up leaving me behind.”

Suga shakes his head. It’s ridiculous, so it’s good that Asahi at least knows intellectually how ridiculous it is. “Do you remember the day we asked you out?”

Asahi blushes, and a smile pulls at his mouth. Suga tracks the subtle movement of Asahi’s eyes as the memory plays out behind them. Suga and Nishinoya had come to him together, confessed hand-in-hand. Asahi had been the catalyst for everything, from the beginning. “How could I forget?”

“If you ever doubt us, just think about that.”

Asahi lets his eyes fall closed. The quiet sounds of Suga’s hands carding through his hair are lost under the racket from the kitchen, but he can draw to mind what they’ve sounded like countless other times. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “Sometimes it just… seems like the two of you get along better.”

“I’ve thought that about _you_ and Nishinoya before too, you know.”

Asahi’s eyes open again. “Really?”

Suga nods. “I get insecure, too. Amazing, I know! I just have more practice dealing with it, so I have an unfair advantage.” He smiles.

“Suga…”

Suga isn’t sure if that’s an answer, or just because Asahi likes to say his name sometimes. Either way, it feels like catharsis. Suga leans down, bends his body awkwardly in half to kiss Asahi. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I love you,” Asahi answers.

“I’m an idiot and it won’t happen again, and I love you too.”

 

\--

 

The meal Daichi and Nishinoya serve, too late to be lunch and too early to be dinner, is surprisingly passable and does not leave the kitchen a disaster zone, despite all the noise. Nishinoya declares that he and Daichi are a good team, and Daichi almost succeeds in not looking harrowed by the experience. Suga has mostly avoided having this group all together, but he feels like maybe he could have used less caution now. Far from being awkward, the conversation flows pleasantly, and Daichi doesn’t pick a single fight with Asahi. On the contrary, when Nishinoya’s phone rings and he jumps up to take the call in another room, his plate still half full, with an excited chirp of _Ryuu!_ , Daichi even lets Asahi explain.

(“No manners,” Daichi grumbles.

“It’s how he was raised,” Asahi tells him. “Dinner at his house is a free-for-all.”

And Daichi, to his credit, accepts this with a nod.)

 

Suga kicks them all out before six, so he can make it seem like he didn’t have guests over before his mother gets home. “I have to have a conversation with Mama,” he insists when each of them in turn tries to protest. She may know about Daichi, but Suga isn’t ready for her to come home to him with three whole boyfriends in the apartment. They have to at _least_ have a chat about her secret housing payments before he breaks that one to her.

 

Once everything is order, though, Suga picks up his phone and sends a joint text to Nishinoya and Asahi.

 _I want to tell Mama about both of you,_ he types. _It might not be tonight, but I want to tell her before I leave._

 

It isn’t until he sees it in his own words in neat little letters on the screen that Suga fully understands that he _is_ leaving. He’s going to Tokyo, and something in him was so scared that he tried to run back home before he even left, but he’s going.

 

He sits down heavily on his bed and laughs himself silly.


	7. Arresting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few cultural notes:
> 
> References are made to yukata (summer kimono often worn at festivals); the custom of giving/being asked for one's second uniform button as a token (and sometimes as a love confession, though the tone is a little different here); and the Tanabata story (about two celestial lovers, represented by the stars Altair and Vega, separated and allowed to meet only once per year with the help of some bird friends, provided it is not raining. Please look up a summary of this because I'm clearly awful at explaining). 
> 
> A different sort of note:
> 
> The rating has gone from T to E. Please note the Additional Tags section. I have... never posted something like this here before, so I'm going to post this and run to somewhere I can hide my face in my hands and think about what I have done.
> 
> Thank you for being here. Thank you.

Suga stands for graduation, present only physically. The words of the ceremony are white noise behind the highlights of the previous days playing over and over in his head.

_The bags that had to be packed twice, because Suga couldn’t stand the way his room looked the first time. It was too sparse and sad, so he put back just enough decorations and little mementos to make it look like he still lived there. There wouldn’t be much room in the dorms anyway, and the lighter load was a disproportionate relief._

Daichi finds his hand and squeezes once, and when Suga looks up he sees Daichi’s mouth twitching in a smile that could easily turn to tears. He elbows him in the ribs and mouths _No. Crying._ —but then he squeezes Daichi’s hand back and smiles brightly.

_Daichi’s map of the distance between Suga’s dorm and Daichi’s one-bedroom apartment, marked with a coffee shop, two restaurants, and a game center that were roughly halfway in between. Sappy, ridiculous. Suga had taped it to the inside cover of his planner._

Suga doesn’t _feel_ like a high school graduate, as much as he has everything to show for it. He goes through the motions, but can’t kick the feeling that he’s going to head back home, wait out the break, and be right back here again at the start of the next term. He says as much to Asahi, who nods sympathetically and says he wishes it were true.

_The floor plan to a cramped single-occupancy room. Took some trial and error with sketching over the diagram for Suga to figure out where to put everything, but knowing it would be absolutely his own made his heart pound._

He searches everywhere for something to make it real, and he finds it in the form of Yamaguchi. He just happens to catch sight of him near the gates, but suddenly the idea strikes him and he takes off at a jog.

“Yamaguchi! Come here for a minute, okay?”

Yamaguchi’s eyes are round and his lips part silently. He nods, but doesn’t move until Suga takes his hand and leads him off somewhere quieter.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says. “For that night.”

“That’s—I didn’t really—didn’t you already…?” Yamaguchi slouches his shoulders, but Suga still gets the feeling he’s grown a little taller while he wasn’t paying attention.

“I mean really, properly thank you. And apologize for worrying you.”

Yamaguchi starts to form a protest, but gets distracted by Suga pulling the second button off his own jacket and holding it out in the space between them.

“This isn’t worth much compared to the CD, but I think you should have it.”

“Should…?” Yamaguchi squeaks, and shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be giving that to someone else?”

“Daichi?” Suga guesses.

Yamaguchi nods.

“Well, I’ve got this suspicion he’s gonna give me his. It’d probably be weird to just give an identical one back.”

“Then… Nishinoya?”

Suga hums. “I have to give him and Asahi the exact same thing or there’ll be a huge fuss. I’ve already got something else planned out, so…” He presses the button into Yamaguchi’s palm and curls his fingers in around it for him. “If you refuse, you’re gonna make me look really uncool.”

Yamaguchi laughs, ruffles the hair at the back of his neck, and tucks the button in his pocket. “Thanks, Suga-san. I’ll take good care of it.”

\--

Asahi makes the trip to help Suga get moved in, and dutifully sets up Suga’s laptop to put Nishinoya on a Skype call for the whole process so he can see the new place and shout instructions so abruptly that Asahi almost drops things several times.

When Asahi leaves on an early evening train, the room is so quiet and still that it’s thoroughly unsettling. Suga puts on headphones and blares music as loud as he can stand it.

\--

Suga’s e-mails with Akaashi are, at first, little more than a courtesy. Akaashi has lived in the area his whole life, and he’s willing to help Suga get his footing if he needs anything.

When he scrolls back through them, Suga can find that even one of Akaashi’s earliest messages includes an invitation to have lunch together, but Suga still can’t be sure when the tone of the messages changed from formal to flirtatious. Every time he thinks he’s found the beginning of it, he scrolls further and finds an even earlier instance of Akaashi subtly hinting at how popular Suga will likely be at his new school, or Suga himself telling Akaashi not to worry so much about what he wears to an interview because he’d look fine in just about anything.

Wherever it began, it’s safe to say that Akaashi has been more or less driving Suga crazy for a while now. From a distance, though, because it’s been months and they still haven’t managed to meet up yet.

Today there is no reply from Akaashi when Suga gets out of class, and he gets through part of a sigh before his phone lights up with Akaashi’s name—a call, instead.

It’s the first time that’s happened. Suga almost forgets he’s supposed to answer it, so he doesn’t get to it until the last ring.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Sugawara-san,” Akaashi says. His seamless formality still catches Suga off his guard, even now. “Do you have time to talk now?”

“Sure!” Suga chirps, sounding conspicuously rough and casual in comparison. He bites his lip. “I’m done with classes for the day, so it’s fine.”

“Ah…” Akaashi pauses, and Suga almost feels like he can hear him swallow on the other end. “I told you a while back that I would show you around, but I’m afraid I’ve failed in my duties by now. I’m sure there’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“Hardly,” Suga laughs. “I know the way to all of my classrooms pretty well, but I’ve had my nose in my books too much besides that. It’s actually my fault for not making plans sooner.”

“Not at all.” Akaashi is quiet but insistent. “But, in any case, the local shrine’s festivals are always beautiful. There’s one on Tanabata, and I’d like to be the one to show you if you don’t already have plans.”

Suga’s eyes skim over the calendar on his wall. Two weeks. It’s not nearly soon enough—he wants to see Akaashi infinitely sooner—but a festival sounds perfect, and his schedule couldn’t be clearer for it.

“No plans at all! I’m free as a bird. I’d love to.”

“I’m… really glad to hear that,” Akaashi breathes. “I was starting to think you’d graduate before I had a chance to see you.”

“There’s no way I’d let that happen,” Suga promises him. “I’d end up skipping classes to come see you if I had to.”

“You can’t become a delinquent, especially not just for my sake.” There is a smile in Akaashi’s voice, and it makes Suga’s pulse pick up.

“All university students are delinquents. I’m probably the only one who hasn’t missed a single class so far. The administration might get concerned if I don’t learn to slack off properly.”

Akaashi laughs, a very small sound almost lost under light static. Suga presses the phone closer to his ear, hoping to hear it again.

“Let’s start with the festival, Sugawara-san,” he hears instead. “After that, I’ll see if I can give you some reasons to become a class-skipping lowlife.

Suga grins, and grabs a marker to circle the date of Tanabata on his calendar.

“Looking forward to it.”

\--

Suga’s dreams are laced with sharp eyes and a voice full of cautious, formal speech. Surviving two weeks is really going to be an endurance run.

Akaashi calls again five days later.

“Hello?”

“What are you wearing?”

Suga has no answer for that besides an incredulous laugh.

“That’s not what I meant,” Akaashi says hastily. Suga can hear the tension in his voice, and waits patiently. “To the festival, I meant.” Akaashi sighs. “I have this yukata—it was my mother’s idea. Because I never wear it.”

“That sounds nice, actually,” Suga says. “I haven’t worn traditional clothes in a while. It’ll be better if we match, right?”

“I would… feel more at ease wearing it, that way,” Akaashi admits.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Suga declares. “You’re one of those classic beauties, anyway, so it’ll suit you perfectly.”

Akaashi sighs heavily. “You’re going to be the death of me, if you keep talking that way.”

Suga smirks. “Says the guy who starts a conversation with _what are you wearing._ ”

Akaashi coughs. Kind of loudly. He chokes, maybe. “I really am sorry for—it’s not—I was nervous,” he forces out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Suga reassures him. “I’ve done much worse.”

“I know you have.” Akaashi makes a small noise like he’s trying to unsay those words as soon as they’re out, but there’s no helping it.

“Oh? What does that mean?”

There’s a tense silence. But then Akaashi takes the plunge. “Sugawara-san. Haven’t you been teasing me this whole time?”

Guilty. “Maybe a little.”

“More than a little,” Akaashi ventures. “I don’t open your messages in public anymore.”

“Really?” Suga asks, even though he’s been doing the same thing.

“Not after that picture you sent.”

Suga frowns, trying to remember what Akaashi could mean. He’s only sent a handful of pictures over the course of their correspondence, mostly about things about his new surroundings that had amused him, and he’s only been in one of them.

“The one of my bed?”

“The one of _you,_ ” Akaashi says, “ _in_ your bed.”

“That’s not...” The back of Suga’s neck goes hot. The photo in question had been of Suga stretched at full length, which left his ankles hanging off the end of the mattress. The message with it had been about how much more trouble someone taller would have. “The bed! Is short! The point was that the bed is short.”

“You were in your underwear,” Akaashi accuses. “Your shirt was riding up.”

“Those are my pyjamas,” Suga says, but it’s a weak defense. The way Suga has been flirting, it’s easy to see how a picture like that would have only added to the effect. Besides, he _does_ sleep in boxers. No matter their usual function in Suga’s world, they are technically underwear.

“The same day, you asked me if I would hand-feed you cake while you did your homework.”

“Okay, that one I don’t have any excuse for.”

Akaashi sighs, though clearly in good humor. “I’ll see you soon, Sugawara-san.”

\--

Suga, improbably, finds that he feels too self-conscious to ride the train in a yukata. So he makes the trip in worn-out street clothes, and changes cramped and clumsy in the station restroom.

Akaashi is waiting for him when he emerges, smiling and offering his hand with self-consciousness but also plenty of grace.

He leads Suga through streets that are a dream full of multicolored streamers wafting ethereal cheer around them. Akaashi leans close to offer explanations of places worth going, roads worth taking to get to them quicker, experiences he’s had and shops he’s been able to rely on. He packs as much overdue guiding as he can into fewer than ten city blocks, and he holds Suga’s hand the whole way until they have to climb single-file up narrow stone steps to the shrine.

Both sides of the path are lit with hand-painted lanterns, and between them people wander with smiles for each other and for the vendors. Many of them are couples with young children. It’s sweet, and not nearly as crowded as the route they took to get here, and it warms Suga’s heart.

Akaashi finds food and a place to eat it, tanzaku to write wishes and a place to hang them. He is so confident and at home here that at first Suga thinks the people who keep looking their way must know Akaashi and are trying to get his attention, but Akaashi glances at enough of them with no recognition in his eyes that Suga realizes they’re just staring because Akaashi is beautiful. He feels proud to be at his side.

They stop by an easel that holds an illustrated retelling of the Tanabata story, each page rendered by a different member of the community, and Suga flips through it slowly, smiling at the details. Akaashi nudges him, ever so gently, and whispers, “Everyone is looking at you.”

Suga looks around, startled, and barely catches a couple of hastily averted gazes.

“Looking at _you,_ you mean,” Suga counters. “They can’t keep their eyes off of you.

Akaashi shakes his head.

They are both right.

They wander a while longer, and Suga insists on stopping for sweets that Akaashi politely refuses, and Suga savors by himself with enthusiasm and gratitude.

They reach the end of the path, and Suga is about to turn back the way they came when Akaashi takes his hand to stop him.

“I want to see if we can see them,” Akaashi says, eyes trained on the sky. “Altair and Vega.”

Somehow it’s one of the most enticing things Suga has ever heard, and he doesn’t hesitate to follow him off the path and away from the festival grounds until the light of the lanterns doesn’t touch them at all. Akaashi finds a dip in the ground at the foot of a tall, spindly tree, and turns to face Suga.

“Orihime made Hikoboshi forget the world,” he says, and Suga takes a step closer. “I understand that feeling.”

Suga catches Akaashi’s mouth with his own, then, lips working smooth and slow like a question. Akaashi’s hand curls around the back of Suga’s head and tangles in the hair just behind his ear almost protectively, and that’s his answer. Suga twirls them so he can press Akaashi’s back against the trunk of the tree, and when Akaashi sighs appreciatively, Suga lets his fingers wander over Akaashi’s chest and sides.

Akaashi’s skin runs cool but his mouth feels so hot against Suga’s, makes him dizzy in the summer air. Suga almost loses track of himself, of where they are, until Akaashi slips a hand into the front of Suga’s yukata and spreads his palm wide over his chest. Suga pulls back, surprised.

“You’re beautiful,” Akaashi says, which is almost _bizarre_ given that Akaashi is the one with the flushed cheeks, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead above those gorgeous dark eyes that make him look almost ethereal in the moonlight. Suga smiles and shakes his head in disbelief that such an absolute _vision_ could possibly think that Suga is the beautiful one. Akaashi seems to take that as some kind of signal and draws his leg up, resting his knee against Suga’s hip. Suga eagerly pushes fabric away and slides his hand slowly up the outside of Akaashi’s thigh, savoring the contours of lean muscle. Akaashi’s beauty is the kind that could start wars, or rend dimensions apart. He could be very dangerous, if he wanted to.

For now though, far from dangerous, Akaashi just looks susceptible and open with his jaw lax and his shoulders pulled back tight behind him. A question dances on Suga’s tongue, but the words are too scattered to do anything but brush his lips along the line of Akaashi’s jaw. Akaashi reaches out, pulls their mouths together again. _Needy,_ Suga thinks, but it’s terribly hypocritical of him because this is the first time they’ve ever kissed, but already Suga feels a crescendo of urgency that has nothing to do with the risk of discovery.

Suga’s hand pushes up over Akaashi’s hip until he finds the elastic of his boxers, hooking a thumb underneath the band.

“May I?”

“By all means,” Akaashi purrs, and Suga’s insides go white-hot. He tugs hard, and Akaashi gasps at being exposed to the evening air. His face is a vision, color high on his cheeks and mouth falling further open around silent panting. Suga almost can’t take his eyes off that face, but he does so that he can see his own fingers wrapped around Akaashi’s cock. Here, too, Akaashi is flushed and exquisite. Suga licks his lips and gulps hard. The image is almost surreal, framed by the elegant drape of the yukata. His eyes flick back up to Akaashi’s face as he gives an experimental stroke. Akaashi exhales blissful relief until he’s practically curling in on himself. Suga wants to ask Akaashi to describe what he wants in extreme detail, wants to hear that reticent voice overlaying all manner of lewd things, but he has a feeling that kind of request would make Akaashi shut down. Instead, he carries him through it one step at a time.

“Good?”

Akaashi nods, and his head lolls back against the tree. “Good,” he agrees.

Suga picks up the pace. Akaashi is made of pure heat. Decisively, unyieldingly, Suga is drawn to him as though Akaashi is nothing short of vital.

“Good,” Akaashi repeats, a whisper into summer air.

Suga draws his hand up, passes a thumb over the tip. The wetness there makes him sigh. His breath feels hot in his own throat, and he presses careful kisses against Akaashi’s collarbone, and up the side of his neck.

“Feel good?”

“Good.” Akaashi’s fingers curl hard against Suga’s chest, and Suga feels the dull bite of fingernails pressing into his skin.

Suga drags precome back down the side of Akaashi’s cock, and Akaashi’s hips jerk. Spurred on, Suga pumps steadily and meets each buck of Akaashi’s hips as best he can. When he twists his wrist on the upstroke, Akaashi lets out a needy whine and covers Suga’s hand with gentle fingers.

“Sugawara-san,” he breathes, and how anyone can sound so polite and proper while being jerked off is a mystery. “Could you…?”

Suga is caught dizzy in a place between hope and greed. He’s going to get to hear a request after all, and there’s nearly nothing he likes more. “Hmm? Anything.”

“Maybe…” Akaashi presses his hand more firmly, urgently over Suga’s. So much heat. “Tighter. Like this?” Akaashi squeezes, holding Suga’s fingers fast around him. “Please.”

Suga laughs, delighted, and bites Akaashi’s shoulder. “Got it.”

Akaashi takes his hand away, lets Suga find his bearings again. Suga feels like it’s almost _too_ rough, the way he’s tugging against more resistance now, but it immediately reduces Akaashi to choking gasps so he keeps going. He leans into Akaashi, presses his back harder against the tree. Akaashi’s sounds are drawn-out moans that border on melodic, but Suga finds he can shatter the song in the most beautiful ways by using his free hand to shove at Akaashi’s shoulder, or force his chin up so Suga can lick and bite at his long neck. Akaashi likes being pushed around, and if there’s anything more glorious than that on earth, Suga can’t imagine it now.

“Akaashi,” Suga murmurs against one elegant collarbone, before digging his teeth in in earnest.

Akaashi tries to say something that might be Suga’s name, but there are far too many syllables for him to form even half of them clearly. Suga bites the same spot again and Akaashi tries for words again. “I’m—“ he manages.

Suga looks up, seeking out the face that goes with the urgent ventures at speech. He meets dark eyes shining watery under the moonlight, at the same time tightening his fingers over one more indecorous stroke, and then Akaashi’s eyes fall shut and he is gone. Lost, as his voice is cracked through with a stifled moan, and then slowly finding his way back to being able to pull the air into his lungs normally again.

Akaashi gulps, breathes quietly for a few moments. When he opens his eyes again, they don’t look as tearful as before. But there’s still something dead-serious about the loveliness of him that makes Suga self-conscious of his own involuntary smirk. Akaashi doesn’t seem to mind, though, answering with a hazy smile. There’s a faint thud as the sandal slips from Akaashi’s foot and hits the hard earth. Suga releases Akaashi’s leg so he can retrieve it.

Akaashi catches the edge of the sandal with his toes and rolls it back toward himself, and when he sinks to his knees Suga thinks he’s only going to put it back on and maybe put his clothes back in order, but then Akaashi is untying Suga’s obi with a deftness that is frankly unfair. Suga has half a protest formed on his lips, and then all at once Akaashi’s are wrapped around him.

“Oh _god._ ” Suga isn’t sure why he didn’t expect Akaashi to reciprocate, or maybe didn’t think that far ahead. Sure, he’s been preoccupied for some time with the idea of what he wanted to give, but now it seems obvious that Akaashi wouldn’t be satisfied without getting his own say in this. Suga’s hands splay in the open air, and Akaashi catches them, braids their fingers together tight as he takes a deep breath through his nose. Suga watches him for as long as he can, but Akaashi draws Suga in by his hands and begins to move, dragging his tongue firmly up the underside of Suga’s cock again and again, and then Suga can’t help the way his head snaps back towards the sky. Akaashi releases his hands, so Suga settles them in Akaashi’s hair instead, not guiding but just feeling him move. Whether Suga’s eyes are open or closed, he sees stars.

The way Akaashi’s mouth works over him is insistent and desperate in a way someone who has just come has no business being. Suga understands perfectly, though—the need to take someone’s hand and tip them over the edge has a persistent and addictive allure, and Suga can hear it in the low whining hums Akaashi makes, sounds that hit Suga at his core and make him tremble.

Akaashi pulls back and says “come here” softly, so softly, and Suga doesn’t know what he means until Akaashi guides him to the ground, lays him on his back and hikes Suga’s legs up over his shoulders.

“I love your thighs,” Akaashi explains as he strokes him. “I’ve wanted for a long time to be between them.”

Suga swallows, and exhales on an indulgent moan as Akaashi leans over and takes him back into his mouth.

The ground is hard and uncomfortable and the position isn’t the easiest one for Suga to hold, the way he’s shaking, but the unfamiliarity of it pushes Suga into a kind of disquiet that isn’t unwelcome. His skin feels too hot against his clothes, so he pushes the fabric back off his shoulders. Akaashi pulls almost off of him at the movement, raises his head to see what Suga is doing, but then merely hums in approval and sinks back down, tongue working relentless steadiness against Suga.

Suga can’t keep his hands still, so he touches himself—runs fingers over his chest and stomach light enough to raise bumps on his skin, strokes through his own hair and down the side of his neck.

There’s a point where he thinks he’s done for, and his thighs press against Akaashi’s head in anticipation, but that makes Akaashi groan loudly and take him impossibly deeper, and he draws Suga to a place even higher for a good long moment or two before he tenses and comes with a faltering cry against Akaashi’s throat.

Suga returns to himself in time to wonder at guilt for how tight his legs have clamped against Akaashi’s face, and again at the way Akaashi coughs faintly. But when Suga relaxes his thighs and lets Akaashi raise his head, Akaashi lets come drip freely from his tongue onto the ground, and then wipes his mouth with a razor-sharp smirk, and Suga knows he has no cause for guilt.

Akaashi pulls Suga up by his elbows and holds his face, strokes slender thumbs over Suga’s cheeks like a bid for permission, and Suga answers it with a lingering kiss.

Suga giggles, and Akaashi breathes a sound that almost echoes it.

“Finally,” Akaashi says, relief mingling with drowsiness.

“Yeah,” Suga agrees. He glances meaningfully at the sky, though he wouldn’t know which stars are Altair and Vega if he saw them. “Can we meet more than once a year?”

“Please,” Akaashi says.

They find their feet and help each other get in order, fixing clothing in place, Suga checking Akaashi over to make sure there’s nothing left on visible skin, and Akaashi brushing lingering dirt and grass from Suga’s back. When they agree, as far as they can tell in the low light, to looking relatively presentable to society, Akaashi leads Suga back towards the lantern lights.

They are both too self-conscious that they still may look in some way debauched, though, for staying much longer to feel like a tempting prospect. Going back to tour the decorated shops isn’t that appealing, either. Instead Akaashi finds a bench that once belonged to a park that no longer exists, brings back drinks from a vending machine, and they do nothing but chat and joke and let hands wander in easy affection until, all too soon, it’s time for Suga to catch his train.

\--

When Suga calls his mother the next morning, he can hear the clatter of her shuffling through her makeup drawer in the background as she gets ready for a job interview. Her voice is shaky with nerves, but conversely Suga feels at ease.

“You sound happy,” he tells her.

“So do you,” she says. “Is it…” she inches hesitantly forward with her words, not yet confident in how to approach this subject. “Has one of them been to see you, lately? Your special ones.”

Suga’s heart lifts, because for all her uncertainty, she’s never seemed put off or disapproving of what Suga always worried she would be.

“Mm, no, I’m making new friends so I don’t make them spend half their lives on trains to see me.”

“I don’t think they’d mind,” she says. She knows how he gets lonely, so she’d probably turn on the disapproval all at once if she thought he was being neglected.

“I’m meeting Daichi for lunch tomorrow,” Suga admits. “Don’t worry, I’m still going to make them spoil me a little.”

She laughs fondly, and Suga feels a little close to tears.

“My Koushi,” she says. And then, “I should probably—“

“Yes, yes, knock ‘em dead.” He wishes he could be there to give her a hug for luck and then shove her out the door himself.

“I will.”

Suga hangs up and rolls sideways on his bed, curling up to fit on the too-short mattress, and lets himself believe that everything is going to be fine.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          


	8. Imminent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Has it seriously been FIVE MONTHS since I last updated? I'm so sorry. Wow. I intended to only be away from this fic for the summer, and now here we are in October already. I really do apologise.
> 
> But here we are now, and it's Tanaka's turn! I also posted a prequel to this fic over here, so if you haven't seen that yet, I hope this helps make up for the wait a little: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8182208  
> There's a new side-pairing here now, too, if I may direct your attention to the tags. I'll let you get straight to it! Next chapter will be either Tsukki or Yaku, depending on some fiddly plot things I'm working on, and one of those is already partially written so I'm hoping updates will be much faster going forward.

Tanaka calls on a Thursday morning while Suga is between classes.

“I’m not supposed to spoil the surprise, but Noya-san and I are both trying for the same school as you.”

Suga laughs, because Tanaka didn’t even say hello. “Did he swear you to secrecy? You know what you’re getting yourself into, going against his wishes like this.”

“I knoooow,” Tanaka moans. “But, I dunno. It’s not like I wanna bug you to help me study for the exam or anything, but it seemed like a waste to… not do everything I can. If I waited until the acceptance results to tell you, it might’ve been a waste.”

“Got it.” Suga pushes through a side door to step outside. The weather is cooling down these days, and it’s refreshing. “I don’t have a lot of time to talk right now, but why don’t we plan to meet up soon? I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I can at least offer some advice.

“Tokyo… sounds nice, but I’ll be in deep shit if he finds out.”

Suga hums. “Then don’t come to study. Just come to visit your old senpai, and if I happen to mention some stuff about the exam while you’re here, that’s just normal conversation.”

“You’re scheming, Suga-san!” Tanaka sighs, or maybe it’s a huff of laughter.  “Okay, when are you free?”

“Sunday,” Suga says, uncertain because it might be too soon.

“Good.” Tanaka’s voice sounds less tense on the other end. “Leave the details to me, all right?”

Suga smiles. “I’ll be looking forward to it, then.”                                                                                                               

 

\--

 

The restaurant displays a sleek charcoal storefront to one side of an open plaza with an elaborate three-tiered fountain in the middle. Suga arrives early, but Tanaka has beat him. He’s standing near the door dressed like Suga has never seen him: a sleek navy blazer over a t-shirt that clings to his muscular form in a way that makes Suga sweat, dark jeans tucked into neatly-laced leather brogue boots that accent this height. There is a silver chain at his throat. Suga finds himself grinning.

"Hey," Suga calls with a wave. Tanaka's eyes snap straight towards him. "Look who cleans up really nice."

Tanaka reflects Suga's smirk. "Your memory sucks. I always look this hot." He adjusts the lapels of his blazer, and Suga has trouble disagreeing with the flash of his teeth.

"Is this how you talk to me, just because I'm not your senpai anymore?"

"Nah." Tanaka leans forward into the quick hug Suga gives him. "This ain't the first time your date's been nervous, is it? I'm just tryin' to keep up here."

Suga smacks him on the back before he breaks the hug. "Don't be nervous! You're hot, you're the ace of an incredible team, and you scored a date with a university student. Just take a deep breath and tell me I look nice."

Tanaka makes a big show of planting his hands on his hips, sticking his chest out, and laughing heartily. "You're a knockout, Suga-san! As expected of me and my flawless taste."

"Much better." Suga glances at the door, and Tanaka nods and holds it open.

"After you."

"Why, thank you." Suga suppresses a smirk. Tanaka, showing no such restraint, grins openly.

He converses briefly with the hostess—two people, non-smoking, and they'd like to dine on the patio.

"The wait will be about an hour," she tells him.

"An... hour?" Tanaka's voice is calm, but Suga can practically see him sweating.

The hostess glances at her clipboard and offers an apologetic smile. "Forty-five minutes, if you would prefer to sit indoors?"

"Ah... I see..." Tanaka turns stiffly to look at Suga. Yeah, he's definitely sweating. "Suga-san... how hungry are you right now?"

Suga waves a hand in front of his face. "I'm fine, don't worry. You think we should be on the patio? I wanna wait for the patio."

Tanaka doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he smiles back at the hostess and clears his throat. "An hour is fine. Thank you very much."

Outside, Tanaka runs a hand over his head in distress and sighs. "My bad, Suga-san, ah... I should have picked a place that takes reservations. Today's supposed to be the slowest day for this place, and it's still like this."

"Come on, none of that." Suga touches Tanaka's arm, and shakes his head when they make eye contact. "You put a lot of thought into this, huh?"

Tanaka grins sheepishly.

"So there's a reason you chose this place. It'll be worth it, so enough with the regrets."

"Got it," Tanaka agrees, the tension in his stance easing off a little. "Anything you wanna do while we wait?"

Suga stretches his arms and looks around. "This is a nice area. Do you want to just walk around for a while?"

Tanaka smiles wide, and offers his arm. Suga takes it gladly, starting to feel starry-eyed. Tanaka is romantic in an effortless, natural way that Suga is pretty sure is rare these days. He almost wants to compare him to Daichi, but Daichi is more... rigid, always checking his posture, hesitant to fully relax no matter how many dates they go on. Tanaka moves more fluidly, loose and giving off the impression that everything comes easily to him. Suga is almost jealous. Maybe he should be taking notes.

"How's school treating you? Tanaka guides him down a side street with a flower nursery that smells incredible.

"Hmm..." Suga breathes in deeply. "Classes aren't what I expected. There are a lot of big lecture halls, and I get lost in my head sometimes. So I end up studying a lot on my own. I’ve been told I’m taking it too seriously.”

"Told... who's telling you that?"

"My teammates." Suga smiles, all pride and fondness. "That part's amazing. Nothing beats Karasuno, obviously, but." He sighs. "It's a lot of fun. Learning how to work with a new group again... it's nice to look forward to something like that."

"Nice," Tanaka echoes. "But they're giving you trouble? Too much studying affecting your performance or something?"

"No, nothing like that. Just..." Suga makes a broad gesture in the air with his free arm. "Everyone says university's your last chance to enjoy your youth before you're stuck in the workforce for the rest of your life. And I'm not really going out much."

"Workforce, huh..." Tanaka has a strange quirk to his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're not planning to go pro?"

"It would be nice if I could." Suga presses his lips together. He doesn't let himself go to this place in his mind very often.

"If you could?!" Tanaka lets out an exasperated breath. "Suga-san, you're _good!_ Aren't you a starting player already?"

"Yes, but..." Suga doesn't finish that sentence.

"But nothing! It's possible to do that, isn't it? You'll end up getting scouted anyway, right?"

"I wonder." Suga can feel himself starting to blush. "Even hearing you say that, it's comforting, but it doesn't feel real. Me, getting scouted."

"Hahhhh... I don't like this lack of confidence."

"I wonder if that's what it is. A matter of confidence?"

"Whatever it is," Tanaka says, "change your mind before I graduate. I want to play with the Suga-san who's aiming for the top."

Suga smirks. "I'm giving it my all, if that's what you're worried about," he says. "I'm aiming for... well, I guess I'm aiming to push myself as far as I can go. Is that close enough?"

Tanaka gives him a reassuring smile. They walk in silence for a moment while Tanaka thinks that over. "You'll be surprised at how far that is, I guarantee it."

At the end of the next block, they hit a dead end and turn to head back the way they came.

“How’s Nishinoya?” Suga wants to know. He feels Tanaka stiffen, but when he looks, there is no visible change in Tanaka’s expression.

“Noyassan… is amazing, like always,” he says. “Misses you, if you wondered. Drives Asahi-san mad, going to see him at work all the time.”

“Sounds like Nishinoya.”

"Yeah..." And now Suga can't deny that something is off here. Tanaka's expression isn't changing because he's purposefully schooling his features into neutral, and Suga knows it. "Did something happen between you two?"

Tanaka lets out a startled laugh. He runs a hand over his face, and the momentary gap in his vision makes him stumble over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches himself and laughs again, a discouraged sound. "You're too sharp, Suga-san," he says. So it's surprising when the next word out of his mouth is "No."

"No?" Suga raises an eyebrow. "I'm sharp, but nothing happened?"

"Nothing," Tanaka sighs, "has ever happened between us."

There's a loaded pause during which about a thousand things click into place in Suga's mind. He looks up and sees that fountain in the distance, the one in the centre of the plaza they came from. He tugs on Tanaka's arm and points.

"I'm not gonna make you talk, okay? But come sit with me. My legs are a little tired." Suga's legs are not tired. He's a bit warm, maybe, and would welcome the light spray of water. But more than that, the sound of the fountain will afford a little more privacy if Tanaka does have something to say.

He does. Once they settle in, water falling tranquilly behind their backs, Tanaka leans back on his hands and addresses some invisible point in the distance. "Sorry for making this weird before we even get to eat."

Suga shakes his head. "Nothing's weird. You know I won't feel that way, don't you?"

"Hah," Tanaka says. "Guess I do. Just doesn't seem right, does it? 'Hi, thanks for going out with me, let me talk about how I'm hung up on your boyfriend.'"

Well, there it is. Not in the clearest terms, but it's more than Suga hoped for; he wasn't sure Tanaka would say another word on the matter at all. "I think it's fine. Can't we just bond over that?"

That gets Tanaka laughing, even as he leans forward and curls in on himself. “Keep forgetting the rules’re all different in your world.”

"Hey, you're not the most conventional guy in the world either." It's the easy jab, sure, but Suga really does feel like he and Tanaka have a fair amount in common. He wants to feel that now, wants to confirm it after the time they've spent apart. "So, here's our world with no rules. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

Tanaka nods, and Suga waits in silence through the solid two minutes or so it takes Tanaka to actually speak.

“It might not seem like it, but I tried to keep my distance.” He cracks his knuckles, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “I tried to be a good friend, but he’s really…” Tanaka offers up a split-second’s flicker of eye contact, and Suga hopes Tanaka sees his sympathetic smile. Because yes, yes, Suga knows. He knows exactly what Nishinoya is like. “Pathetic, right?” Tanaka forces a laugh, scrunches his eyes closed. “He’s not even my type. I don’t know how it happened!”

Suga turns to him, puts a hand on his arm. “Sometimes…” Suga’s not always good with words. But he tries. “…Growing up? You’re not always who you thought you would be. But I think that’s kind of okay.”

Tanaka scrubs his hands over his face and lets out a frustrated groan. “How do you do it so easily, Suga-san?”

Suga sniffs, mock indignation. “It’s never easy, I just make it look that way.”

That softens Tanaka’s tense posture. It makes him laugh again. “Okay, okay. But how did you know?”

“How did I know what?” Suga blinks.

“That you could… do this. Be with more than one person, and be with people who are also with more than one person. How did you know it would work?”

Suga sighs thoughtfully, taps the toes of his shoes against the ground. “I didn’t really know it would work, but… I knew I wanted to try.”

"Sounds real simple, when you put it like that."

"It does, doesn't it?" Suga crosses his ankles. "It wasn't at first, though. I agonized over it, I... I didn't sleep, a lot of nights. I knew how I felt, but I didn't know how to make it work."

"Huh." Tanaka draws one leg up on the lip of the fountain so he can face Suga. "So... how did you? Like, what do you tell people?"

"Says the guy who's here because I asked him out."

Tanaka snorts and nudges him. "I mean people you're like... with. Long-term."

Shyly, Suga mirrors Tanaka's position. He's having trouble with the scrutiny, but Tanaka is listening with a raptness and a patience that Suga very rarely gets on this topic. He's going to be present, and he's going to be honest. "It's different with every person. Like, Daichi... took a while to get there. It was a process. Really, really worth it, but a process."

Tanaka hums quietly. It's almost lost under the sound of the fountain's spray. "How'd it go with Noyassan?"

Suga smiles so wide his cheeks ache. It's good to be able to report good news. "Nishinoya was thrilled the second I suggested it. Hardly even asked questions. That's the easiest it's ever been."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, yeah?"

"Not just saying it," Suga confirms. "I'll tell you the whole story sometime, but... you know what? I think we just successfully killed an hour."

Tanaka does a double-take at his watch, and shakes his head in disbelief. "Time flies."

 

\--

 

The patio is unreal. Tables sit atop a raised concrete platform, surrounded on all sides by a mosaic of shining stones in a variety of jewel tones. The sun shines through gauzy, pastel pink umbrellas over the tables, casting the entire dining area in a dreamlike rosy glow. Suga gaps audibly, gazing all around with his hand over his heart before he even gains the presence of mind to take his seat.

Tanaka, across from him, does nothing to disguise how pleased he is by the reaction. He orders for both of them.

And Suga, picky as he is, can do nothing but trust Tanaka with all his heart. "This is beautiful," he breathes once the waiter has left. "Where did you even find this place?"

"It's kinda famous," Tanaka says. "I saw it on a TV show once, so when you asked me to come see you it seemed like the thing to do."

"Saw it on a TV show once." Suga leans in across the table, stares at Tanaka from a low angle. "How long have you kept this one stored away, just in case you needed a date idea in Tokyo, by chance?"

Tanaka groans. “Sometimes I think about taking Noyassan to places like this.” He sounds so discouraged that Suga feels a pang of sympathetic pain in his chest. “Can you imagine?”

"Yes, actually."

Tanaka doesn't look convinced.

"No, I mean it," Suga insists. "I think Nishinoya would love this place."

"He tells me about your dates sometimes," Tanaka says. "Never really seemed like he was the fancy dinner type."

Suga chews on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Hmm, you know? We do end up playing it casual most of the time. But when I think about it, it seems like that's mostly because of Asahi."

"Really?" The corner of Tanaka's mouth twitches. "He seems like the most sappy romantic one of the three of you."

"No way, that title's mine." Suga laughs. "But I mean, Asahi is nervous about us being in obvious date spots, seeming like... like what we are. Nishinoya plans a lot of what we do, but he makes his choices out of consideration for Asahi."

“Huh…” Tanaka settles back into his seat. “So what about when it’s just the two of you?”

“With just Nishinoya?” Suga tries to fight back the heat that rises to his face, to no avail. “More often than not, to be honest? We just kind of…”

Suga isn’t sure whether to be grateful or embarrassed that Tanaka gets it without the need for that sentence to be completed. Tanaka goes red, too, laughing nervously and looking away. “That’s seriously… hah…”

“But, the two of you!” Suga blurts, desperate for a change in subject. “You already go to lots of interesting places together, don’t you? Sightseeing and stuff.”

“Well, yeah, with Neechan. But that’s not really the same.”

“Do you think he wouldn’t go, if she wasn’t there?”

Tanaka blinks. “We wouldn’t have the car.”

“Okay, but—“ Suga giggles, because that’s the cutest possible answer. “No, I mean… if you took the train or something. He’d still want to do those things, just the two of you, wouldn’t he?”

Tanaka doesn’t have time to answer, because the food arrives at that moment. The wait has made them hungrier than either realized, and they’re both a ways into dinner before it occurs to Tanaka that he was asked a question.

“How is it?” he asks, first of all.

Suga grins and washes down a mouthful of food with water. “It’s amazing. Beyond belief.”

Tanaka smiles all bright and perfect like a model in a toothpaste ad. “Hah, I’m relieved.” And then he folds his hands together and gets back to the topic they left hanging. “About what you said before… you’re right, I think he’d still go with me.”

“Then ask him out,” Suga says simply, shrugging before shoveling more food into his mouth.

Tanaka coughs and averts his gaze.

“And don’t talk so much about another boy while we’re on a date,” Suga adds with a sniff, but his expression is exaggerated enough to make it clear he doesn’t really mean it.

“I’m talking about _your boyfriend,_ ” Tanaka counters. “It’s not like I’m comparing you.”

“Well…” Suga weaves his fingers together to mirror Tanaka. If they’re going to play this game, then sure, Suga can play this game. “But you took me somewhere you’ve dreamed of taking _him._ If you’re not careful, I might end up feeling like a stand-in.”

“…Did I say that?”

Suga nods.

“Augh, that’s not how I meant it.” Tanaka tips his head back to think before meeting Suga’s eyes again. “It’s more like—you haven’t been single in a while, but… thinking ‘I wanna do this with my special someone, one day’ sort of thing. You know? Like, whoever it ends up being.”

“Hmm… sure,” Suga allows. “Am I your special someone, for tonight?”

Tanaka glows, and even in the pink light filtering over them, Suga can tell. “’Course,” he manages to force out.

“Good. Then buy me dessert later.” Suga gives him a thumbs up.

Tanaka groans, reverting back to himself a ways. “You haven’t even finished your dinner yet!”

“I have never, not once in my life, not wanted dessert!”

Tanaka is powerless against that triumphant declaration. When the waiter returns, Tanaka sits up straight in his chair and asks for the dessert menu.

 

\--

 

Two slices of cake and a fiery sunset later, they find themselves seated at the fountain again, murmuring subdued reminiscences of secret early-morning practices with Hinata and Kageyama. The mornings are just as cold these days as they were back then.

“Hey, come to my dorm room for a minute,” Suga says. When Tanaka raises an eyebrow, Suga punches him in the side. “Not like that, gutterbrain, I’m sending you back with something.”

But Suga holds onto Tanaka’s arm the whole way, and it’s a comfort that goes beyond just the familiarity of home. Under different circumstances, Suga might have invited him in for real.

He leaves Tanaka standing in the doorway and piles books on his desk chair to get at what’s underneath—a worn out blue notebook, thin from having most of the pages torn out.

“I found these last night—kinda lucky. Notes from last year.” He presses the notebook into Tanaka’s hands, but doesn’t let go. “I highlighted some things I know were on the exam, but I’m sorry I couldn’t remember more. This should at least give you a direction to head for though.”

“Are you serious?!” Tanaka looks at the amazing thing in his hands and lights up. “This is incredible, Suga-san! You’re the best!”

“Study hard!” is Suga’s answer. “And don’t tell Nishinoya, but try to steer him in the right direction. I want to see both of you here next year.”

“Yes!” Tanaka’s eyes are full of fire, which gives Suga hope even for the moment when it occurs to Tanaka that Suga has just given him something to _study,_ and using it will mean _studying._

Suga’s hands slide from the corners of the notebook to Tanaka’s arms, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to Tanaka’s lips.

“For luck,” he says.

Tanaka’s mouth falls open, but he nods. “I’ll do my best.”

Suga lets go, and takes a step back. “Text me when you get back.”

“Will do. Suga-san, good night.”

 

\--

 

When Suga’s phone buzzes with the notification that Tanaka is safe and sound back in Miyagi, he puts away his homework for the night and crawls into bed.

He types out thanks for the evening, the dinner. And when Tanaka is in the middle of typing a reply, he snipes him with, _And let me know how confessing goes!_

Tanaka stops typing. And starts, and stops again.

Suga laughs, and turns out the light. Whatever that reply ends up being, he’ll find out in the morning.


	9. Mellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here. We're back. Notes are gonna be at the end of this chapter this time to avoid spoiling the dang thing.

Suga slumps down in the coffee shop with a heavy sigh.

"You're a lifesaver, oh my god."

Yaku smiles at him gently from across the table, stirring his iced coffee with a straw. "I haven't even done anything."

"I mean it," Suga insists, "you're my salvation in a cruel, unfeeling world."

"Bad week, huh?"

Suga stares straight into Yaku's eyes and gives a solemn nod.

"Go get caffeine," Yaku says, an eyebrow raised in concern. "Before you collapse or something."

Suga nods, grateful, and heads to the counter. Once he returns with his usual tea, things seem a little less bleak.

"So," Yaku says, "I understand the part where your boyfriend got sick right before your one free day in two weeks."

"Bad timing," Suga confirms. "I'm going to see him later, but he's just going to sleep through the day until dinner."

Yaku nods, sipping at his coffee. "Not really getting the part where your teammates have some sort of pact to ignore you, though."

"To be honest, neither do I." Suga sighs. "Something about me studying too much and never going out and meeting people. I'm being punished for being a good student, Morisuke! They won't 'give me the easy way out' until I 'fix my social life' or something. Seijou boys are brutal."

"Well, they're not exactly Seijou boys anymore." Yaku taps his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe they just want to get you back to your old self?"

Suga mulls that over with a long sip of tea. "Do you think so, too? That I'm not myself?"

"I don't really know first-hand, but..." Yaku leans back in his chair. "Actually, maybe it's not my place to say."

"Please," Suga says. "Be here for me in my time of need."

That makes Yaku laugh, and he relents. "Sorry. I don't want to overstep, but Sawamura's been worried about you too."

"Daichi has?" Suga blinks. He knew that, to an extent, but didn't guess it was enough to be confiding in a third party about it.

"Well, he says you only talk about old friends from high school. Like maybe you're having trouble adjusting."

"Huh..." Suga folds his arms on the table. It's true enough that this is only the third time he's been out all semester with someone who wasn't Daichi, Asahi, or Nishinoya—and each time, he's been with someone he already knew before starting university. "I guess if even you can see it, maybe there's some merit to what they're saying."

"Well, it's not as if I know for sure." Yaku waves a dismissive hand in front of his face. "It's just as likely that they have some ulterior motive."

"See, that's what I've been thinking!"

"Or they could just be jealous of you."

Now, that theory was never on Suga's radar. "Jealous? Why?"

"Because you're a first year starting player." Yaku's voice goes a touch softer, and all of a sudden he's wearing a smile that looks a bit like a grimace. "I wouldn't ostracize you for it or anything, but... it's an enviable position."

"You're..." Understanding dawns on Suga. "You're kidding. You're way better than I am, and you're not a starting player?"

Yaku drags his thumb through the condensation on the edge of his glass. "There's a... really talented second-year libero. I don't think there's a huge gap in skill level, but he has experience playing with the current lineup already."

"Ah. That's difficult..." Suga bites his lip. He's not sure if the words are adequate at all. "I probably just got lucky, because my school's star setter graduated last year."

"You're strong too," Yaku says. "You showed a lot of improvement last year."

"Thanks." Suga smiles. "But part of it _is_ luck. There just happened to be an opening for me. The timing..."

Yaku takes a deep breath, and forces a grin. "You don't have to sound so sorry for me. At the very least, I'm a shoe-in to take over once he graduates. But even in the meantime... I haven't given up yet."

"Good." Suga means it—and he wouldn't have expected any less. Yaku has always been the type to rise to challenges.

In the lull before the conversation picks up again, Suga watches a couple at another table shyly join hands between their coffee cups. There's something that doesn't _bother_ him exactly, but happens to settle in his mind. He's about to open his mouth, but Yaku speaks first.

"So, your team is overrun with Seijou grads?"

"In numbers, no. But the practical effect?" Suga sighs. "Our libero played for them three years ago. And then there's Hanamaki and Matsukawa in my year, and they're the ones who started the whole Don't-Let-Suga-Date-Teammates initiative. They... have a lot of influence already."

"Starting players?"

"Nah. As far as first year players, that's just me and Konoha from Fukurodani. A lot of the best offensive players just graduated, so we shoved our way in somehow. I think the captain's already eyeing Konoha as future ace material."

"Wow." Yaku folds his fingers together. "Hanamaki was a strong defensive player too though, if I remember right."

Suga nods. "He'll probably get some time on the court before too long. It's rough, though, because compared to him Matsukawa is..."

"In the same situation as me." Yaku nods, solemn understanding.

Suga offers him a sympathetic smile.

"In a couple years," Yaku murmurs into his coffee, "there's going to be a really interesting showdown."

"No kidding." Suga finds the simmering excitement just below the surface of Yaku's expression to be contagious. Yaku always wears that face when he's just intimidated enough to get his adrenaline flowing.

Suga wants to egg him on.

"Nishinoya's bound for my school next year, you know."

That does the trick. Yaku is leaning over the table, muscles tensed. "Yeah? Damned if I'm not on the court by then," he decides with a gulp.

Suga has to chuckle then, and he remembers something from moments earlier.

"You know, you're actually on a date with me, aren't you?"

Yaku blinks. Tilts his head to the side. "Well, yes. Why?"

"Because," and Suga is still laughing a little, "all we've done is complain to each other, and here the first time you've seemed properly excited it's because I brought up another boy."

The line of Yaku's mouth wavers into something that might be a pout, and he averts his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Nah, me either. Don't worry." Suga drains the last of his tea, and nods to Yaku's glass which is now mostly ice. "How'd you feel about a change of location, though?"

"Yeah," Yaku says with a grateful smile.

 

\--

 

On a trail near Yaku's campus, Suga hesitates for a moment and then takes his hand. Yaku looks up, and then tilts his head in the barest indication of a nod.

It's a cool day, and the gentle rustling of the wind through the leaves is a calming backdrop to their easy meandering. Yaku, apparently, has a study group in about an hour, so Suga will probably walk as far as the convenience store with him and pick up a few things before heading to check on Daichi.

"Have you been back home much?" Suga asks.

Yaku sighs heavily. "Once. I sat in on practice at the beginning of the year, and it was chaos. Apparently it's been better since then, but poor Kenma looked like he was at the end of his life."

Suga tries not to laugh. It's not like he has any room to judge. "It's hard letting go, huh?"

Yaku shrugs and kicks a rock. "It must be worse for you. You were vice captain."

"I think it'd be hard for anyone. But chaos wouldn't even phase me by this point."

Yaku's mouth twists to the side. He's quiet for a long moment or two, and then,

"What about you? Are you in Miyagi a lot?"

"When I can." Suga's face is warmed by the mere mention of it. "I haven't been to the school, though. But to visit my mom, and Nishinoya and Asahi."

"He's still at home?"

"Asahi?" Suga nods. "Working. He has his own apartment and everything, like a real adult."

At the edge of the trail, a dense line of trees blocks the last turn before the intersection between here and the campus. Yaku slows here, almost hesitant, so Suga stops walking. They'll be parting soon, after all.

"Is it hard to juggle all of that?" Yaku asks.

Suga hums. He knows the tone, though he's never heard it from Yaku. Yaku has always been careful not to ask.

"You mean dating."

Yaku's face is cautious, guarded, but he nods. "The distance, for one thing."

"Sometimes," Suga says. "We make it work. It's worth it."

Yaku lets out a breath, and Suga realizes they're not holding hands anymore and he doesn't even remember when they stopped. "We just ended up talking the same way as before, huh?"

"Hmm." Suga runs a hand through his hair. It's abrupt, but— "Can I try kissing you?"

Yaku nods, and steps into Suga's space.

It's warm, and pleasant in a way, alone with the empty path and the gentle breeze, shielded from the immediate world by a wall of foliage.

But it's also something that they break away from with identically blank expressions.

Yaku is the first to crack a smile, but Suga audibly laughs first.

"This isn't much of a date, is it?" Suga says.

"I feel kind of sorry," Yaku answers, scratching at his nose.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Suga hits Yaku square on the back just hard enough to make him stumble, and they turn the last corner towards the intersection together. "Even I can't expect to fall in love with everyone I meet. Now _that_ , I really _wouldn't_ be able to juggle."

If Yaku still looks a little troubled for a moment or two, it's melted into the same good-spirited companionship by the time they're across the street.

"I'll call you later," Suga offers. "What time is your group over?"

"Should be in about an hour."

"Got it."

Yaku grins, maybe because of how normal this kind of exchange is to them by now. "Tell Sawamura to get better before practice on Monday or I'll be pissed."

Suga nods, and flashes a thumbs up as he turns to leave. "Don't worry, if he stalls too much getting better I'll kick his ass too."

 

\--

 

Suga makes the promised call once Daichi has been fed and forced to swallow medicine he tries to pretend he doesn't need. Yaku tells Suga about the guy in the dorm next to his who stays awake way too late and is way too noisy clattering around with who-knows-what, and Suga tells Yaku about the vending machine that's stolen his money more times than he can forgive, but not enough times for him to stop trying to use it.

"I think he's my best friend," Suga tells Daichi as they're falling asleep.

"Hey," Daichi warns, and Suga snickers.

"I mean my best friend I'm not sleeping with."

"That's better." Daichi kisses Suga's forehead, and Suga elbows him in the ribs and makes him complain about how a sick person should and should not be treated.

Tomorrow, maybe, Suga will look into that whole thing about fixing his social life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISED SUGA HAS A UNIVERISTY TEAM. WITH MEMBERS. REAL PEOPLE. HE IS PLAYING THE VOLLEYBALLS WITH THEM. Here's proof now, and I'll continue to make it more clear where everyone else ended up over time.
> 
> So, I feel a little weird about having gone this direction without warning about it, because a) it sucks a little bit to be offered a ship but then it turns out platonic, and b) I actually do ship this romantically?? But this is kind of how I planned it from the beginning, actually. I just liked the idea, in the context of this story, of them trying to be lovey-dovey but it doesn't quite work out and it's actually fine. Life's like that sometimes.
> 
> What I didn't plan was for Daichi to actually appear at all, but it worked out that way. I hope that's another good little teaser because I just added a few more chapters to my outline, so this thing is going to end up longer than originally intended.
> 
> One of those is going to feature Iwaizumi, for those of you here and on twitter who expressed an interest in him having a chapter and I was like "mmmmaybe if it works with the plot." I'm confirming now, it works with the plot, Iwaizumi's chapter is coming.
> 
> First, though: Tsukishima is up next! The chapter is about half-written, so I'm gonna try once again to not take a million years to update this thing again. See you next time!


	10. Fractured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gone for so long. I'm sorry. I'm back now, and it's Tsukishima's turn!  
> I've been staring at this chapter for way too long and I don't especially like it, but if I don't post it now it'll be another several months before I get a new chapter out. Please take this humble offering.
> 
> I hope to be back much sooner this time round! Next time will be either Iwaizumi or Kunimi.

It happens at the train station as Suga is transferring on his way back to school after spending the night at Asahi’s place.

He catches sight of a slender figure, tall enough to tower over the rest of the crowd, and does a double-take. It’s not as obvious without the telltale headphones, but Suga cranes his neck to get a better look at the face framed by those pale curls, and there’s no mistaking it.

“Tsukishima!”

His head turns, eyes searching and then focusing in on the source of the voice from behind black frames. Suga sees Tsukishima mouth his name, and they lock eyes for a long moment until the crowd thins enough for them to cross the distance to each other.

Suga punches Tsukishima’s shoulder in greeting. “What’re you doing out here?”

Tsukishima averts his gaze for a moment, shrugs. “There was a new CD release.”

“Oh! Yamaguchi’s not with you?”

“No.” It’s a little quick, a little sharp.

Suga is struck speechless for just a second too long, trying to figure out why.

“Have you eaten?” Tsukishima’s mouth is pinched in a sour-looking frown, but Suga knows him well enough by now to understand when that look just means he’s trying to do something correctly. Suga wouldn’t call someone as polite as Tsukishima _awkward,_ exactly, but there are certain things he’s not used to doing. A casual spur-of-the-moment invitation like this seems to be one of them.

“Not yet,” Suga says with a smile. “There’s a place near here that’s pretty popular, actually. Their cakes are really good.”

Tsukishima’s eyebrows relax, which is as close a sign of intense interest as he’s capable of making, if Suga is reading him right.

“I… if you’d like…” Tsukishima appears to be pulling the words out with some difficulty, and it’s actually really _cute,_ but Suga decides to take pity on him and help him out.

“If you’re not too busy, I’d really appreciate the company.” Suga grins. “It’s a nice surprise, seeing a familiar face.”

“I’m not busy.” The relief in Tsukishima’s face could hardly be more apparent, although on the surface it’s just a miniscule widening of the eyes and a relaxed tilt at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” Suga jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s beat the lunch rush?”

 

\--

 

Tsukishima eats slowly and with an almost distrustful look on his face, like he’s trying to assess the food for poison. Suga isn’t sure why that nurtures fondness in his chest.

 “What kind of music is it? The new CD.”

Tsukishima shrugs, but then he answers anyway. “A band I like broke up two years ago. Now their bassist has a solo project. It’s more experimental, but I like it so far.”

He’s talking a lot, by Tsukishima standards. Which is probably why Suga makes the misstep.

“Is it not Yamaguchi’s kind of thing?”

Tsukishima goes so still, Suga isn’t even sure if he’s breathing.

“…Did I hit a nerve?”

Tsukishima shakes his head, just one quick jerk of the neck. “He wouldn’t have wanted to come.”

“With you? To a music event?” Suga knows he’s prying now, but it feels like something that wants to be uncovered. Besides, ignoring it and changing the subject might’ve been exponentially worse.

“Yamaguchi,” he says as evenly as he can, “doesn’t want to go much of anywhere with me lately.”

His voice carries the type of subtle venom that only comes from secrets that have been kept too long, and too bitterly.

“You’re kidding. Since when?”

Silence stretches longer than it should, like it might snap under the pressure. Suga crosses his ankles, then uncrosses them, feeling fidgety all of a sudden.

And finally,

“I found something. In his room.” Tsukishima has a way of chopping his sentences into smaller pieces when he’s tense. It’s a tell Suga had nearly forgotten about. “A uniform button.”

“Ah,” Suga says, so quietly that when Tsukishima goes right on talking, it could be that he didn’t even hear the interjection.

“He didn’t want to talk about it. For… a _while._ When he did, he said it was yours.”

Suga drops his chin into his palms, and his heart sinks. The thought that he might have driven something between a pair as close as Yamaguchi and Tsukishima is… well, maybe he should know more before he lets himself feel devastated.

“Tsukishima. Do you have feelings for him?”

Light flickers In Tsukishima’s eyes as they go wider for just a fraction of a second under the yellow light of the restaurant.

“What does it matter.”

Suga takes in a steadying breath and presses on. “I’d say that when you care about someone, it usually matters a lot.”

Tsukishima’s expression sours, and he looks away. “Either way, he likes you.”

Suga wants to laugh, wants to make a joke like _well I like a lot of people,_ but at the moment that would do exactly the opposite of lightening the mood. If Yamaguchi is still carrying a torch for Suga, it shouldn’t hurt anything, but the first order of business is to find whether or not it’s even true.

“What exactly did he say to you, when you talked about this?”

“He…” Tsukishima leans back in his seat, puffs out air that makes his hair flutter on his forehead. “He said you gave it to him, and not much else. Something about how ‘the whole thing was just so I’d know for sure.’”

“Know what?”

“That’s something I never got the answer to,” he says. He looks almost petulant, to contrast for the formal trend of his phrasing. “It seems very difficult to get answers out of either of you.”

“I’ll tell you anything that’s mine to tell,” Suga says. “Sorry if I’ve made this harder for you. What is it that you want to know?”

Tsukishima searches Suga’s eyes for a long while. Licks his lips almost imperceptibly before speaking again. “I’d like to know how you feel, if you don’t mind.”

Straight to it, then. Probably for the best that way.

“I care about Yamaguchi,” Suga says carefully. “But I’m not pursuing him, romantically.”

“Do you want to?”

Tsukishima’s gaze is cutting, and Suga tries to smile gently enough to soften it. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I don’t plan to, especially if… well, I don’t have any intention of complicating things unnecessarily, or standing in your way.”

Tsukishima focuses in on his straw, twirling it around and around in his glass. “He keeps the button in a little black box, like one from a jewelery store. I thought you might already be dating.”

Suga sighs and puts up his hands. “Okay, full disclosure. Because I don’t want any more misunderstandings.” He waits for Tsukishima to make eye contact again before continuing. “We went out, once. A few weeks before graduation.”

Tsukishima lays his palms flat on the table and exhales through his nose. “You haven’t thought about it, but you asked him out?”

Suga runs a hand through his hair. “He asked me.”

Tsukishima blinks at him with blank eyes. Not the usual stare-you-down sort of blankness, but a lost sort that makes him look a lot younger.

The ice in Tsukishima’s glass melts a little, and shifts. “That explains some things.”

“It was… I mean, I do this kind of thing a lot. You know that, right?”

Tsukishima nods, glances at the room around them. “What does that even look like? Just hanging out?”

“Coffee, shopping… we picked some things out for each other. I kissed him, on the cheek. It’s… not as bad as it sounds,” Suga says, in hopes that it’s true.

“Why would it be bad?” Tsukishima’s demeanor clouds over. His voice goes murky and dark. “It sounds like you had a good time. Isn’t that nice?”

Suga stops eating, because his stomach feels absolutely unsettled. “Tsukishima, like I said, I don’t have any intention—“

“Why?” Tsukishima snaps Suga’s sentence cleanly in half without even raising his voice. “Am I wrong? Did you not enjoy it enough to single him out and give him that button?”

It’s intimidating to think about trying to speak again, when Tsukishima’s defenses are so sharp against any advancement. Suga gulps.

“I’m not satisfied,” Tsukishima continues softly, “with being the reason you stopped trying. With being involved without my knowledge or consent.”

“You’re right,” Suga sighs, because he knows what Tsukishima is asking for, and Suga wouldn’t have even known where to look for it without his guidance. “I’m saying that now, that I won’t get in your way. But I guess it wasn’t like that.”

Tsukishima nods.

“I practically had to force him to take that button. He had a bunch of excuses, but I insisted.”

Tsukishima looks down at the table, and Suga takes note of the way his eyelashes flutter and cast shadows on his cheekbones.

“Is that it? You thought he’d lost interest?” Tsukishima is sharp and precise.

“I wonder.” Suga can’t get at the answers quite as directly, even when they’re his own. “It’s hard to explain. But in one way or another, it didn’t seem like it was going any further than that.”

Tsukishima doesn’t look entirely settled, but he lets out a long breath and relaxes.

“All right.”

There’s a finality to it; an acceptance.

Suga tries a smile, and he doesn’t get burned for it. He returns to his food.

Tsukishima doesn’t even eat all of his dinner, picking apart the vegetables so much that Suga worries about his appetite. But as soon as their cakes arrive—strawberry for Tsukishima and coconut cream for Suga—all such anxiety disappears. There is definitely something to be said about sweets and their ability to lift the mood.

“I’d like to go somewhere else,” Tsukishima decides once he’s cleaned every trace of the dessert from his plate. Suga is quick to agree.

_Somewhere else_ ends up being a parking lot behind the neighboring department store, cool and feeling eerily empty in the twilight despite being full of cars.

Behind the ticketing booth, Tsukishima takes Suga’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Tension evaporates from Suga and disappears into the air. This, he knows how to navigate. His hands find Tsukishima’s forearms, and he tilts his chin to make up the height difference. Tsukishima’s skin runs cool, and his lips still taste like whipped cream.

They blink at each other when they part, the sky seeming just a little darker than when they began.

“What does this mean to you?”

“Um…” Suga isn’t so sure how to answer. “I don’t know if I can make sense of it, but I can tell you how I feel.”

Tsukishima blinks again. Nods for him to go ahead.

“I feel… glad that we met up. And kind of relieved, because you kissing me probably means you don’t hate me after today.”

“And that’s why you kissed me back?”

“Sure.” Tsukishima looks unsatisfied so Suga adds, “And because I care about you, and I wanted to.”

“But you don’t know what it means.”

“Beyond that? No.”

Tsukishima takes a deep breath and a step back. His posture loosens. “I see.”

Something in his manner speaks of approval now, though Suga can’t imagine why now, why only after that.

“You probably need to get back, yeah?” Suga pats Tsukishima’s arm. “Morning practice tomorrow, right?”

“As always,” Tsukishima sighs. “And you?”

Suga shakes his head. “Nothing but me and my books until the afternoon. But I won’t keep you.”

They walk together as far as the station, and Tsukishima’s train is already there, so he has no time for more than a stilted “goodbye” before he breaks into a half-jog to make it.

Suga doesn’t even get in one word in response.

He takes his phone out of his pocket, stares at it for a long moment as the station traffic weaves around him. It would be so easy to dial a number he hasn’t touched in quite some time, to play it off as a casual catch-up session. He bites his lip.

He shoves the phone back in his pocket and heads home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @jaela and yell at me about sports!! I'll yell back!! Let me know there or in the comments here if there's a Suga-centric ship you'd particularly like to see included, and if it's not already on my list I'll definitely consider it. Thanks!


End file.
